Bluelle

Hiiii💙💙 live love blue💙🩵

[bluelavendre]

BTS MASTERLISTS

Oneshots

💜Kim Namjoon

Strength in the Ranks

Miss Right

💜Kim Seokjin

Through the Years

💜Min Yoongi

Gummy Smile & Forever

Suga's Home

I'll always come back to u

💜Jung Hoseok

Encore In Paris

Dancing In Harmony

💜Park Jimin

Echoes of Us

Until the Stars Align

Not for the cats, but for us

💜Kim Taehyung

I miss you, I'm sorry

Sound of Silence

A Starry Birthday Surprise

💜Jeon Jungkook

Please, I'll Change, I PROMISE!

Villain's Soft Spot (snippet)

In His Shadow

In His Shadow Sequel

Bounded by Obsession

Hidden Feelings

Almost is never enough

Apocalypse

BTS OT7 SERIES

-Surviving together-

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28??? --- S2.1 S2.2 S2.3 S2.4 S2.5 S2.6 S2.7 S2.8 S2.9 S2. 10 S2. 11 S2.12 S2. 13 S2. 14 S2. 15

S2. 16

S2. 17

S2.18

S2.19

S2.20

S2. 21

S2.22

S2. 23

BTS Drabble Collections

Special Producer

Drabble 1

Drabble 2

Drabble 3

Drabble 4

Drabble 5

[platonicaxaxe]

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist

Deathtrap & Bob Stuff

Deathtrap & Bob¹

Deathtrap & Bob²

Deathtrap & Bob³

Deathtrap & Bob⁴

Deathtrap & Bob⁵

Deathtrap & Bob⁶

The Sentry & Deathtrap The Parallel

Coming soon

Bad Blood: The Parallel¹

Goddess Galactica

Coming soon

[bluelavendre]

😭

[platonicaxaxe]

Bad Blood: The Parallel

The Sentry x Ex Assassin reader

Context:

In this world, Robert Reynolds, also known as The Sentry, is no longer a fractured god of light and darkness—he is in full control of his powers. A symbol of hope and strength, he stands tall as one of the most beloved heroes of the people and a core member of the elite new team: The Avengerz.

But behind his golden glow, Robert harbored a secret.

For nearly two years, he built a quiet, hidden bond with Y/N Y/L/N, the elusive assassin known only in whispers as Deathtrap—a former operative of the Red Room and a shadow from Yelena Belova’s past. They met by chance, drawn to one another by something unexplainable. Against all odds and logic, Robert saw something more in her: not a weapon, not a threat… but a person trying to survive a system that built her to kill.

Their love was not loud. It existed in small corners of the world—rooftops, safehouses, stolen hours. And Robert, for once, felt grounded.

Until everything shattered.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, ever the puppeteer, publicly exposed Deathtrap as a high-tier international criminal. She claimed Y/N had orchestrated secret assassinations of politicians and global figures, and was behind a string of unsolved high-end bank heists.

Despite the storm, Robert stood by her side… at first.

“She’s not what you say she is,” he told Val, jaw clenched. “You just don’t see the full picture.”

“I see more than you think,” Valentina replied coolly. “She needs guidance. Control. Structure. Help me, Robert… or she will burn everything you built.”

Wanting to believe in redemption and in Valentina's promise to educate Y/N—not destroy her—Robert assisted in her capture. He didn’t know the full truth. He didn’t know what they had planned.

He didn’t know they meant to get rid of her.

But Y/N escaped.

She vanished before the world could witness her execution, slipping through the cracks like smoke. And when she looked back… it was him she remembered standing behind Valentina.

Now, years later, Robert sees her again—not in his arms, but on the battlefield, standing against him, her eyes no longer soft, but forged in betrayal.

"You believed them," she whispers, as thunder crashes overhead.

"You let them put chains on me... and called it saving me."

His voice trembles. “Y/N… I didn’t know.”

Her smile is cold, sharp like a blade.

“Now you do.”

And then—she vanished into the shadows.

Now, war brews in the veins of the Avengerz. Loyalty is tested. Truths are tangled.

And the question lingers in Robert’s mind, louder than ever:

Is she still the woman he loved… or the monster he helped create?

[platonicaxaxe]

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist

Deathtrap & Bob Stuff

Deathtrap & Bob¹

Deathtrap & Bob²

Deathtrap & Bob³

Deathtrap & Bob⁴

Deathtrap & Bob⁵

Deathtrap & Bob⁶

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ³

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Context: Bullied Boyfriend Bob?

1-2-3

(Can't find any cute Bob gifs🥺)

---

The streets of New York were alive with their usual chaos—honking cars, fast-talking pedestrians, and street performers blaring music on every corner. Bob and Y/N walked side by side, not quite hand-in-hand, but close enough that their shoulders brushed every few steps.

Bob nervously glanced around, occasionally stealing a glance at Y/N when she wasn’t looking. She looked effortlessly cool, even blending in like a regular citizen—nothing like the Red Room legend known as Deathtrap.

He was so distracted, he didn’t see the broad-shouldered, tattoo-covered man in front of him.

BUMP.

Bob staggered a step back. “O-oh—sorry! I didn’t—uh, I didn’t mean to—!”

The man gave a glare, towering over him, but before he could say a word, Y/N had already grabbed Bob’s arm and tugged him away, weaving through the foot traffic like a pro.

“Don’t make eye contact with walking temper tantrums,” she muttered.

“S-sorry,” Bob mumbled, still flustered as they ducked into a small, cozy café.

They took a moment to relax—Y/N sipping something warm while Bob distracted himself with a cookie he didn’t even order.

When they stepped back out, Y/N suddenly stopped in her tracks near an alleyway.

“Oh shoot—I forgot to get that cookie I was supposed to take home,” she said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Bob nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y-yeah, sure. I’ll just, uh… stand here. Not get into trouble.”

He smiled awkwardly.

Y/N jogged off.

Seconds later, trouble found him.

Two large men stepped out of the alleyway and blocked his path. One of them was the same tattooed guy from earlier.

“Well look who we got here,” the man sneered. “Little pretty boy.”

Bob stiffened. “I-I’m not lookin’ for trouble, guys—”

One of them shoved him lightly. “Look at this hair. You some kind of washed-up superhero?”

“W-what? No, I—well, I mean—kinda—” Bob stammered, backing up as the two closed in.

“Guy like you doesn’t belong around here. And that chick you were with? Bet she’s just babysitting.”

“Hey!” Bob’s expression changed. Something in him snapped. “Don’t talk about her like that—!”

He tried to swing, but the man caught his fist mid-air and sent him sprawling with one punch.

Bob groaned, trying to blink through the dizziness as his eyes started to glow gold. His pulse quickened. He could feel the Sentry clawing at the edge of his mind.

But then—

CRACK.

A boot to the face sent one of the men stumbling into trash cans.

Y/N had returned.

Silent fury burned in her eyes. She moved like lightning—dodging, striking, flipping one of them onto the pavement with brutal precision. The second guy barely had time to lift his fists before she took him down with a devastating roundhouse.

Bloodied and groaning, one of them hissed, “Who even is he to you?!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

“Boyfriend.”

Then she landed the final punch—swift, sharp, and unforgiving.

Bob blinked, wide-eyed and stunned, still sitting on the pavement.

“Y-you… y-you called me—boyfriend,” he stuttered, cheeks blooming red.

Y/N reached down to help him up. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

Bob nodded way too fast. “Y-yeah! I mean—I’d like to be! I-I am. I… guess I am.”

She smirked, brushing a bit of dirt off his jacket. “Let’s get out of here, Mr. Sentry.”

He looked at her like she’d just saved the world. “T-thanks for not letting me go full nuclear rage mode back there.”

“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “But next time—aim for the kneecaps.”

Bob made a mental note. “R-right. Kneecaps.”

A few days after the alleyway incident, YN texted Bob with a simple message:

“Wanna go for a ride? I’ve got something to show you.”

Of course he said yes—he always did when it came to her.

The sun was beginning to dip into the horizon when they hit the road, the city gradually fading behind them. Trees soon replaced buildings, and the rush of traffic melted into the soothing hum of cicadas and the low growl of YN’s motorcycle. Bob held onto her gently, a soft smile on his face, wind ruffling his hair.

Eventually, they pulled into a gravel driveway, tucked behind a patch of dense woods.

A small cabin stood at the edge of a clearing—quiet, simple, with ivy crawling along the wooden walls and a narrow porch holding an old rocking chair.

Bob’s eyes widened.

“W-whoa… is this… where you live?” he asked, stepping off the bike.

YN nodded, pulling off her helmet. “This is my hideout. No phones. No cameras. No trackers. Just… peace.”

Bob took it all in with a soft breath. “It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t bring people here, Bob,” she said seriously. “You’re the first.”

He looked at her, heart skipping. “R-really?”

She just smiled and opened the door.

Inside, the cabin was small but warm—bookshelves packed with paperbacks, a tiny fireplace, a couch with hand-stitched blankets, and a makeshift kitchen that smelled faintly of herbs and tea.

They spent the evening on the porch, sharing takeout and stargazing, wrapped in a big, old comforter YN had pulled from the couch.

Bob couldn’t stop glancing at her.

“What?” she asked, nudging him playfully with her shoulder.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, cheeks tinted pink. “I just… I feel lucky. Like, crazy lucky.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You're not just lucky, Bob. You earned this. You listen. You care. And you never asked me to be anything other than what I am.”

Bob let out a breath, his hand gently brushing against hers before intertwining.

He looked up at the stars. “Can I… c-cuddle you? Or is that too weird to ask?”

YN chuckled and leaned fully into him, tugging the blanket tighter around them both.

“You already are, silly.”

He let out a tiny laugh and rested his head on hers, feeling more grounded than he had in years.

In the soft quiet of the night, with crickets singing and the stars blinking above, Bob whispered:

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

And YN, eyes fluttering closed, replied softly:

“Welcome home.”

Thunderbolts Headquarters – 9:37 AM

“Okay, don’t freak out…” Yelena said, walking into the room holding a cup of coffee.

“What?!” Ava said immediately, already half-freaking out.

“Bob didn’t check in last night,” Yelena admitted.

John Walker nearly dropped his protein shake. “He what?! You mean like—missing?”

Alexei gasped dramatically. “The boy has been taken! I knew this would happen. He is too soft. Like marshmallow!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s just on a walk. I told him to do that.”

“For twelve hours?” Ava quipped, pulling up Bob’s last pinged location on a map. “He vanished off the grid halfway through Brooklyn. That’s not a walk, Barnes. That’s a ‘he’s tied up in a basement somewhere’ walk.”

Alexei paced. “We need to assemble. Call in satellites. Call in drones. Call in—”

“He’s probably just with Y/N,” Yelena interrupted coolly, sipping her coffee.

The entire room went silent.

“With Deathtrap?!” John screeched. “You mean the lady who disappears like smoke, punches like a tank, and eats ghost protocols for breakfast?! That Deathtrap?!”

“Yes,” Yelena said, completely unbothered.

Bucky stood up. “Well, if he is with her… I mean, that’s good, right? She’s capable.”

“She also doesn’t do visitors,” Ava said. “If Bob’s with her, we’re not finding him. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t track that woman.”

“Then what do we do?” John asked.

Alexei pointed to the ceiling. “We wait. And we pray to the gods of love and luck that he comes back… with all his limbs.”

—

Meanwhile… in a cozy cabin miles outside the city…

Bob sneezed.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, poking her head in from the kitchen.

“I-I think someone’s talking about me,” he chuckled.

Back at HQ, Yelena checked her phone. “I’m giving him until tonight. If he doesn’t come back, then we send in a search party.”

“Great. I’ll prep the ‘Missing Bob’ posters,” Ava said dryly.

“They should say ‘Reward: One Cookie and a Hug,’” Bucky added with a smirk.

John nodded. “And a warning label: ‘Do not approach if he's in Sentry Mode. Approach only with snacks.’”

Alexei dramatically put a hand on his heart. “If he returns to us… I shall give him my strongest bear hug. He has survived the deadliest assassin and love. The man is a hero.”

Outside Thunderbolts HQ – 10:46 AM

Alexei was fully geared up, wearing his Red Guardian suit with a fanny pack. He gripped the car keys like a man ready for war. “I will drive through every inch of New York. I will not rest until the boy is safe. If we need to kick down doors, we kick down doors.”

Just as he reached the car—

VROOOM.

A sleek motorcycle pulled up, kicking dust and gravel. Y/N hopped off effortlessly, helmet under one arm, cool as always. Bob clumsily climbed off behind her, legs wobbly from the ride, cheeks tomato red.

"You're good?" she asked him, brushing a hand down his arm.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, totally dazed. “T-thank you… for everything. Especially… the cookie…”

She chuckled, then leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek—close enough to his lips that Bob nearly melted into a puddle.

Alexei froze mid-step.

PLOP. The car keys fell from his hand.

Without another word, Y/N revved her bike and zoomed off into the streets.

Bob stood there, blinking, goofy smile stretching across his face.

Alexei blinked, then grinned. “Well well well.” and Bob got startled.

Inside HQ – Moments Later

The HQ doors swung open with dramatic flair as Alexei strutted in like he just saved the world. Bob followed, awkwardly hunched, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes glued to the floor.

“Found him,” Alexei announced triumphantly.

Everyone in the room turned at once.

“Thank God!” Yelena gasped. “Where the hell were you, Bob?! We were about to storm a warehouse!”

John Walker leaned on a chair. “Was he in a safehouse? Dungeon? Dimensional rift?”

“Deathtrap dropped him off,” Alexei said with a smug smirk, “with a smooch, to be exact.”

Bob audibly choked on air.

Ava raised her brow. “A smooch, huh?”

Bucky leaned forward. “Bob, is that true?”

Bob flushed deep red and muttered, “I-I mean… it was just… like a ‘thank you’ thing… I-I didn’t know anyone saw…”

“She kissed him!” Alexei sang. “And he blushed like a schoolboy!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at Bob. “You’re so done.”

John cracked up. “And here I thought I had the worst public crush moment. You’ve topped it, buddy.”

Bob just shrank further into his hoodie. “I-it’s not a big deal…”

Bucky clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It is if she’s Deathtrap. You’re either in love… or in danger.”

Alexei beamed. “Or both! The best kind!”

As Bob covered his face in his hands, mumbling unintelligible excuses, the rest of the team burst into another round of chaotic laughter.

Thunderbolts HQ – Afternoon

The team had settled into a surprisingly peaceful moment after the morning's chaos. The place was buzzing with their usual dynamic—Ava messing with tech, Bucky cleaning his arm while muttering about “things he didn’t need,” John Walker pacing back and forth with a cup of coffee, and Alexei lounging casually on one of the chairs, looking way too comfortable.

Bob, still red-faced from his earlier embarrassment, was sitting at the table, fiddling with a coffee cup, desperately trying to act normal. Every time someone looked at him, he’d stiffen and look away. Great, he thought. The worst day of my life.

“So, Bob,” Yelena began, leaning casually against the wall, “have you finally figured out how to get her to join the team?”

Bob flinched. “I-I didn’t—! It’s not like that. I—She’s, uh... she’s just... different.” He looked down at his coffee cup. "She's not... like any of you."

Alexei snickered from across the room. “Not like us? Oh, I beg to differ.” He leaned in theatrically. “Remember that sweet kiss she gave you, Bobby?” He fluttered his eyes and dramatically leaned toward Bob, mimicking a kiss, “Mmm… thank you, Bob... for being such a good listener.”

Bob’s eyes widened, and his face turned a deeper shade of red than before. “N-no! Stop! It wasn’t like that! I was just... she—”

“Oh no, it was definitely like that,” Alexei interrupted, standing up, hands on his hips. “The sweet, innocent kiss... on the cheek... at the hilltop... mmm... so romantic, so tender,” he mimicked, leaning forward and puckering his lips at the air, “Sooooo, Bob, I really enjoyed our time together...” He exaggerated the movements, making kissy faces in the most obnoxious way possible.

The rest of the team, already trying to hold in their laughs, burst into giggles as they watched Bob squirm, his face practically glowing.

“Alexei!” Bob squeaked, mortified. “Please! I swear, it wasn’t like that! I-I didn’t even mean to—"

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?” Alexei raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to Bob and leaning down. “Then what was that thing you did when you held her waist like that? Were you preparing for some kind of fight, or were you really trying not to fall off the bike?” He smirked. “Don’t worry, Bobby. We saw you hugging her like it was the end of the world. She was all... cool and collected, and you... well, you were all... shaky, like a leaf in the wind.”

“Yeah,” John Walker added, grinning, “I saw that too. You looked like you were trying to survive the ride of your life.” He leaned in with mock seriousness. “But she didn’t let you fall. How... sweet.”

Bob threw his hands up in frustration. “Guys, I was just trying to balance! I’m not good with—people! Okay?! She’s just...” He paused, looking at the floor. “She’s different. And I didn’t think... I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at Bob’s discomfort. “Hey, don’t feel too bad. You’re not the first guy to get all flustered around her. I mean, come on. You’re in a team full of chaos. Of course we notice.”

Bob sighed, hiding his face behind his hands. “I didn’t... think this was gonna happen. This isn’t like—this isn’t how it was supposed to go, okay? I thought I’d be able to... I don’t know... keep my cool or something.”

“Keep your cool?” Alexei grinned, leaning in again, clearly enjoying every moment of Bob’s misery. “Bobby, it’s okay. We all know how this ends.”

“We do?” Bob said through his fingers, still mortified.

“Yeah,” Alexei said, his voice turning dramatically serious. “You’re gonna get a surprise visit one day. You’ll knock on her door all shy, you’ll stand there, heart pounding like a jackhammer. And then she’ll open the door, and what will you do?” He stepped closer to Bob, his arms outstretched like he was preparing for the worst love confession of all time. “You’ll stutter, just like you always do. And then you’ll say, ‘H-hi, Y/N... I—uh—I wanted to, you know... tell you... that I—I...’ And she’ll interrupt you with a perfect kiss and a perfect smile and all of a sudden, you’re her guy, Bobby.”

“Wait,” John said, tilting his head. “You’re not telling us Bob’s actually planning on telling her about this, are you?”

Bob shook his head quickly, panicking. “W-what? No! I wasn’t! I mean—maybe... but... no! I’m just trying to figure out how to talk to her, okay?”(he already confessed👀)

Alexei grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re already on the way, Bobby. You can’t avoid it now.”

“Maybe we should all just plan a nice dinner,” Bucky suggested, crossing his arms. “You know, set up a nice place. Play some music. Just to get things awkward enough for Bob to say something.”

“Not helping, Bucky,” Bob muttered under his breath.

“Come on, Bob. You’ve been acting like a schoolboy in love,” Yelena said, casually sipping her drink from the other side of the room. “You were shaking when she kissed you, remember?”

“Ugh! Stop!” Bob buried his face in his hands, completely overwhelmed by the teasing. “I swear, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

Alexei slapped him on the back, making Bob lurch forward. “You’ll figure it out, my friend. Love’s like punching a wall—you just have to go for it.” He winked at Bob. “But be careful. Deathtrap’s kisses... they’re dangerous.”

Bob groaned, hiding his face in his arms. “This is a nightmare…”

It was early evening at the Thunderbolts HQ, and Bob was in his room, humming softly to himself as he folded the last item into his small blue backpack—his favorite fuzzy blankey. The soft fabric, dotted with faded stars and moons, looked comically juvenile against the sterile metal walls of the compound, but to Bob, it was a source of comfort… especially when he was going to Y/N’s.

He carefully zipped up the bag, triple-checking that he’d packed his toothbrush, a fresh shirt, and—most importantly—a box of instant cocoa packets, because Y/N’s cabin always had that magical quiet that made warm drinks taste better.

Just as he was about to sling the backpack over his shoulder, a loud knock on his door made him jump like he’d heard a gunshot.

“Woah, woah, loverboy,” Alexei's booming voice rang as the door creaked open. He stood there with his arms crossed, one brow cocked and an amused grin playing on his face. “Packing for a date night or your first school camping trip?”

Bob’s face flushed deep red as he fumbled to pull his backpack straps into place. “I-It’s just—uh—I’m just spending the night at Y/N’s,” he stammered, eyes darting anywhere but at Alexei. “I’ve been... having good sleeps there.”

Alexei gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like Bob had just stabbed him through the heart. “You telling me,” he said with mock devastation, “that you’re not comfortable in the room I lovingly set up for you? With the memory foam mattress and the glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars?”

“N-no! I-I mean—it’s not that—I am comfortable here! It’s just...” Bob trailed off, nervously wringing his hands.

Alexei’s face broke into a chuckle as he clapped a massive hand on Bob’s shoulder, nearly knocking the poor guy forward. “Relax, boy. I’m just messin’ with you. Go enjoy yourself.” His voice softened for just a beat. “If she makes you feel safe—makes you sleep better—then cherish her. And if you love her...” he paused, “don’t be stupid. Let her know.”

Bob blinked, looking up at him with those wide, unsure eyes. He gave a tiny nod.

Just then—PEEP!—a familiar sharp motorcycle horn echoed from outside the compound.

Alexei’s head jerked toward the window and grinned. “Your girlfriend’s here,” he said, smirking like a proud uncle sending his nephew to prom.

“Let’s goooooo,” came Yelena’s voice from the hallway.

As Bob shyly followed Alexei out of his room, his blue backpack bouncing lightly with every nervous step, he was greeted by the entire team gathered just outside the main entrance—like nosy parents watching their kid head off for their first sleepover.

There she was. Y/N, seated on her motorcycle like she owned the entire block, her helmet resting on her lap as she leaned back casually, waiting.

Bob swallowed hard.

“Protect our boy, Y/N!” Alexei called out dramatically, wiping invisible tears from his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “He’s sensitive. He folds his socks.”

Bob winced.

“Don’t worry, I got him,” Y/N called back with a slight smirk, revving the bike just enough to make Bob jump.

“Use protection!” John Walker shouted with a snort.

Yelena immediately smacked him in the arm. “Oh my god, Walker. He’s taking his blankey, not booking a honeymoon suite!”

Bob turned scarlet.

Y/N, clearly amused, patted the seat behind her. “C’mon, blue backpack. Let’s go before they start planning our wedding.”

Bob offered a stiff, flustered wave to the team, then carefully climbed onto the bike, hugging his bag against his chest for a second before strapping in.

As they pulled away, Alexei stood with a hand raised in mock farewell. “There he goes... our sweet awkward prince… off to cuddle town.”

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ⁴

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: Anxious Blonde Bob trains with Deathtrap

Inside the sleek, high-ceilinged Avengers Tower, the atmosphere buzzed with frantic energy. Assistants in headsets weaved between bustling makeup artists, hair stylists, and suit technicians. Tables were stacked with press kits, bottled water, and neatly folded cue cards. Camera crews were setting up tripods while lighting specialists adjusted panels to ensure every hero would sparkle—literally.

In the center of it all stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, heels clicking furiously on the floor as she barked into a comm tablet.

“Chop-chop, people!” she called out, not even glancing up. “We need this press conference to prove that the new Avengers aren’t just here for PR fluff and action-figure deals.”

She spun around dramatically, eyes locking on Mel, one of her top assistants who was holding a clipboard like it was a shield. “This is for the people, Mel. Real heroes. Real impact. Got it?”

Mel hesitated. “Yeah, but don’t you think—”

“Just do what I say, Mel,” Valentina cut her off with a raised finger. “Send the invites. Confirm the press. Go. Run. Now.”

Mel scurried off like his shoes were on fire.

Valentina turned on her heel, surveying her team of so-called heroes now being prepped like runway models in a high-stakes fashion show. Each one stood under a halo of spotlight and scrutiny.

Bucky was having his new vibranium arm polished to a near mirror-shine. It gleamed cold and lethal, a sharp contrast to the bored expression on his face.

Ava Starr stood a few feet away in her newly reinforced Ghost suit, her eyes narrowed in discomfort as someone fussed with the fabric on her shoulders. “Don’t touch the stabilizers,” she warned a stylist with a glare.

Across the room, Red Guardian grinned like a kid on his birthday, striking heroic poses every time a photographer passed by. “Tell them to get my good side! Actually, never mind—I only have good sides,” he boomed.

Yelena sat slouched in a makeup chair, arms crossed and lips pursed, dodging mascara like it was a projectile. “Why do I need blush? I don’t blush, I bleed.”

John Walker adjusted his shield, which still had a dent that made it look vaguely taco-shaped despite endless repair attempts. “This thing’s a design choice now,” he muttered defensively.

Then, there was Bob.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the chaos in his usual green knit sweater and baggy brown square pants, he stuck out like a kindergartener on a field trip. His hands were deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and a quiet look of worry on his face.

Valentina approached him slowly, folding her arms. “Honey… are you really going to wear that to the press conference?”

Bob looked down at his outfit. “I-I thought it was… comfy.”

“You look like you’re about to pitch a tent at a national park, not represent Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,” she sighed. “Go. Suit up. You know which one.”

Moments later, the double doors to the conference hall opened.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

A wall of camera lights hit them like a storm.

And then, he appeared.

Bob stepped out onto the stage, now fully transformed into his Sentry persona. The gold and navy suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, the golden “S” emblem gleaming beneath the chandeliers. His hair—freshly dyed and styled by three very exhausted stylists—glowed under the lights.

He still looked a bit nervous, though. His lips twitched slightly and his eyes kept scanning the crowd like he was searching for a familiar face to anchor him.

Valentina leaned toward him, whispering behind her smile. “You look like a god. Own it, sweetheart.”

Bob swallowed. “I-I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“That’s just anxiety,” Val said smoothly. “Or fame. Maybe both. Either way, smile. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

As the reporters raised their microphones and the questions began to pour in, Bob took a deep breath and straightened his back.

Somewhere in the sea of blinding flashes and murmured voices, someone shouted:

“Who’s the guy in gold?!”

“That’s Sentry,” someone else whispered. “He’s the most powerful one. And the shyest.”

Bob’s lips quirked into a soft, unsure smile.

And in the crowd, Valentina smirked with satisfaction. Her Thunderbolts weren’t perfect—but they were about to make headlines.

The conference lights had dimmed, the applause had died, and the cameras had finally stopped flashing. But inside Bob Reynolds, the storm was only beginning to churn.

Backstage, Valentina paced like a general preparing for war. The team—still half in costume, half in post-event exhaustion—gathered in the sleek conference room behind the press hall.

"Alright," she said, voice sharp. "We’ve got momentum now. This is when we strike. First mission briefing, now—"

But Bob was gone.

He’d quietly slipped away the moment the press conference ended, his heart pounding too loudly to hear anything else. His footsteps echoed against the sterile tile floor as he pushed open the bathroom door and rushed inside.

He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, eyes locked on his reflection.

Blonde hair. Pale face. Sweaty brow.

The suit was gone—replaced by his familiar sweater and brown pants—but the image still didn’t feel like him. The Sentry lingered in his eyes. The power he tried so hard to contain hummed beneath his skin like a distant warning bell.

He took a shaky breath and reached for his phone.

I'm coming over, I hope you don't mind.

He hit send and stared at the screen.

No reply.

“She probably left it on silent…” he mumbled to himself, trying to reassure his spiraling thoughts. “She always does…”

He couldn’t wait. He needed to see her.

Bob left the bathroom, brushing past a pair of security guards and entering the hallway. Valentina spotted him immediately through the meeting room glass.

“Robert! Hey! Robert!” she called after him, voice laced with authority.

He didn’t stop.

Yelena stood up, intercepting Val’s advance. “Let him go.”

Val blinked, surprised. “What?”

“He’s overwhelmed. He needs her. She… grounds him,” Yelena said plainly, arms folded. “You try stopping him now, you’ll have bigger problems than a PR stunt.”

Valentina hesitated, then exhaled and waved her hand in surrender. “Fine. But if he misses this mission, you answer to the board.”

Outside, Bob moved with unusual determination. The noise of the city wrapped around him—honking cars, distant chatter, the subway rumbling beneath the sidewalk.

He stopped briefly by a familiar fruit stand and placed a few bills on the counter.

“Two apples, please,” he said quietly.

The vendor looked up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. “Sure thing, friend.”

Bob took the apples and slipped them into his backpack. His fingers brushed against his blankey inside—his little anchor—and he zipped the bag closed.

As he turned the corner, he didn’t notice the large figure stepping in his path until it was too late.

Bump.

Bob stumbled slightly. The apples rolled inside his bag.

“You again?” came a voice—gravelly, mocking.

It was him. The same tattooed thug who tried to jump him weeks ago.

Bob didn’t flinch.

He stepped around him without a word.

“Oh, so now you’re too good to apologize?” the man sneered. “Wearing your golden cape today, little hero? Or are you still hiding behind your girlfriend’s fists?”

Bob’s jaw clenched. Something cold stirred inside him—not fear. Not Void. Just… power.

He turned slowly.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” he said quietly. “Just let me go.”

“Too late for that.”

The thug shoved him hard, sending Bob skidding across the pavement.

But Bob didn’t fall.

He stopped himself mid-slide, feet dragging like anchors, and when he stood upright, there was a flicker of gold in his eyes.

The streetlights around them dimmed slightly, reacting to the subtle shift in his energy.

The thug lunged, fist cocked—but before it could land, Bob raised a glowing hand.

Wham!

A golden shockwave burst from his palm, not violent—but powerful enough to knock the man back several feet into a stack of crates. The air rippled like heat waves on concrete.

The man groaned, slumped over.

Bob took a deep breath, lowering his hand slowly. Sparks of energy danced around his fingertips before fading.

No Void. No darkness. Just control.

The people on the sidewalk gasped, some backing away, others pulling out phones—but Bob didn’t stay.

He turned and walked, his stride faster now. He was still buzzing inside, but he kept his emotions in check. He needed to get to her. To Yn.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, the Sentry whispered—not in threat, but as a presence.

You’re stronger than you think, Bob.

And this time, he believed it.

Without hesitation, Bob ran to the nearest alley and looked up to the sky. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He didn’t think—he just leapt.

This time... please.

Bob focused, summoning every ounce of energy, every fragment of control he had over the Sentry within. His eyes glowed faint gold, and the wind rushed around him as his feet slowly left the ground.

He flew.

Wobbly at first, unbalanced—but he was in the air, really flying.

For the first time.

His wide eyes filled with tears, and a smile cracked on his face before—

Boom!

He crashed down outside Yn’s cabin, right into the tall grass beside the porch with a loud thud and an ungraceful roll.

Inside the cabin, Yn dropped the mug of tea she had just poured. Her eyes widened, and she rushed outside barefoot.

“Bob!?” she shouted, spotting his hunched figure crawling out of the tall grass.

“I was… I was gonna surprise you,” he muttered, dazed, blinking up at her.

“I was about to get ready to pick you up,” she said, crouching beside him, voice filled with concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He gave a weak nod, and she quickly helped him up. He leaned on her, wincing a bit, and she guided him inside the warm, rustic cabin.

The inside smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. The fireplace flickered low. She led him to her bed and sat him down, gently brushing dirt from his cheek.

Bob’s hands trembled as he held his knees, breathing shaky. His chest heaved—like he had been holding it all in since the press conference.

“I-I feel so—”

But the words caught in his throat. His lip quivered.

Yn didn’t wait.

She wrapped her arms around him, gently laying him down onto the bed with her, holding him as if to keep the world from falling apart around him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “Let it out. Let it all out. We’ll talk when you can, hm?”

And that was all it took.

Bob’s walls collapsed. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he buried his face into her shoulder. His fingers clutched her hoodie like a lifeline.

“I-I tried to be what they needed… what she wanted… the hair, the suit— I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to come here. I-I needed—”

“Shh…” she whispered, fingers gently running through his hair. “You don’t have to explain right now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Minutes passed.

The only sound in the cabin was the crackle of the fire and Bob’s quiet sobs, slowly fading into deeper breaths as he relaxed in her arms.

They lay like that for a long while, no words needed.

Because in that small cabin outside the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, Bob Reynolds could finally fall apart—and somehow feel whole at the same time.

“Hey,” Yn said softly, brushing her fingers against Bob’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk, hm?”

Bob looked up at her, eyes a little puffy but calm now. He nodded.

They both stood, Yn grabbing a soft hoodie to throw over her shoulders while Bob tugged at the sleeves of his familiar green sweater. The cabin door creaked open as they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

It was quiet—beautifully so. The moon cast silver glows through the trees, and the woods whispered with the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind. Crickets hummed softly beneath the blanket of stars.

"You know what I do when I get overwhelmed?" Yn asked, walking ahead slightly, letting her fingertips glide over the low-hanging pine needles.

Bob chuckled, catching up beside her. “You go to the music shop and pretend not to see me awkwardly stalking the vinyl section?”

Yn laughed and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. “Okay, that too,” she admitted, “but I meant this. Right here.”

She stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of moss and pine.

“I walk here. I listen. I breathe. I let nature remind me that the world doesn’t expect me to be perfect. It just expects me to exist. And sometimes… that’s enough.”

Bob looked around, letting the quiet seep into his bones. It was so different from the constant buzz of New York, the flashing lights, the pressure of headlines and eyes.

“That sounds… peaceful,” he said.

“It is,” she nodded. “And maybe it’ll help you too.”

Bob looked down at his feet for a moment, his voice almost a whisper. “Well, Bucky did advise me to take walks... said it helped with his own thoughts. I tried, but—” he gave a soft sigh—“not sure it ever worked.”

“Probably because your walks were in the busy, noisy streets of New York while, y’know, stalking me from behind hotdog carts,” she teased with a grin.

His cheeks flushed instantly as he scratched the back of his neck. “I-I wasn’t stalking, I was… observing… from a respectful… twenty feet.”

She giggled and gently slipped her hand into his. Bob blinked but didn’t pull away. His fingers trembled a little, but then he tightened the hold.

Yn slowed her pace. “Bob… I know it’s not easy. You carry something huge inside you. Something that scares you. But you’re still trying to be good. Still trying to be you. And I think that’s… incredibly brave.”

Bob swallowed thickly, heart thudding in his chest. “You don’t think I’m… too broken?”

She stopped, turned to him, and reached up to touch his cheek. “No. I think you’re healing. And healing people? They don’t scare me.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt—but there was none.

They stood in the silence for a while, under moonlight and the rustle of wind through trees. The kind of silence that spoke louder than any words.

Then Yn whispered, “You’re safe here, Bob. With me. Always.”

He nodded, blinking back a shimmer of emotion. “Thanks, Yn… for letting me be the quiet version of me. The one who doesn’t always have to be glowing.”

She smiled. “That version? He’s my favorite.”

They walked a little deeper into the woods, where the trees gave way to a small clearing drenched in moonlight. The air was still, thick with pine and possibility.

Yn turned to Bob with a small smile, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie. “Well, since we’re here… just nature, no noise, no eyes—why don’t we see what the Sentry can do?”

Bob blinked, nervous. “Wh-what, here? Now?”

“Why not?” she shrugged, taking a step back to give him space. “No pressure. Just you, me… and the moonlight.”

“I-I don’t know if I can really—control it all yet.”

“I’ll be right here,” she said gently. “You’re not alone in it.”

He hesitated for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. But Yn’s calm gaze grounded him. So he took a breath and closed his eyes.

The air shimmered faintly as golden light began to trace around his body—soft at first, then brighter. His sweater fluttered lightly as the energy rose, swirling around him like a sentient breeze.

“Okay…” Yn said softly, stepping in like a coach. “Let’s start small. Try levitating, like you did outside my cabin.”

Bob furrowed his brow and slowly rose a foot off the ground, arms out like a nervous airplane. His face tightened with focus, feet wobbling mid-air.

“You’re doing great!” Yn said, hands cupped around her mouth. “But maybe don’t look like you’re constipated.”

“Th-this takes concentration!” Bob said through gritted teeth, wobbling in the air.

Yn giggled. “Breathe, Bob. You’re glowing like a sun—don’t let it burn you.”

He exhaled slowly. The wobble eased. He floated smoothly now, golden aura pulsing like a heartbeat. Then, slowly, he lowered himself back to the ground.

“Okay, okay,” he said, panting slightly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“You did amazing,” Yn grinned. “Now… let’s try strength.”

She led him toward a fallen log the size of a minivan. “Think you can lift that?”

“I-I mean… maybe?” Bob blinked.

“You’re a powerhouse, Bob. Come on.”

He rolled up his sleeves awkwardly—then realized he was glowing again and didn't need to—and placed his hands under the log. With a breath and a grunt, he lifted it slowly, golden light threading through his arms like molten wires.

The log rose into the air.

He looked up, wide-eyed. “I—I’m doing it!”

“Now toss it.”

“What?!”

“Toss it! Gently!”

He flung it, more out of panic than grace, and the log tumbled like a spinning coin before crashing into a pile of leaves, bursting into splinters.

Bob flinched. “Oops.”

Yn clapped. “Ten out of ten for dramatic effect.”

Bob chuckled, running a glowing hand through his now-blond hair. “I still feel… unbalanced. Like it’s not me doing it.”

“You’re not a machine, Bob. You’re learning. And every time you try, you take back a little more control.”

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest, over where his heart beat, fast but steady.

“You’re not the power. You’re the person who chooses how to use it. And that’s what makes you strong.”

He looked down at her, eyes shimmering gold now. “You really believe that?”

She smiled. “I believe in you.”

He took her hand, holding it like a lifeline.

“Then maybe… just maybe, I can believe in me too.”

The training slowly fizzled into laughter. After a couple more power stunts—and one accidental tree getting split in half—they finally collapsed onto the soft grass in the clearing, breathless and flushed from both the exertion and the joy.

Bob lay flat on his back, the golden shimmer from his earlier stunts still faintly dancing around his fingertips. Yn curled up beside him, her head nestled gently in the crook of his arm.

The moonlight dappled through the branches above them, stars beginning to wink awake in the purple-stained sky. A light breeze passed, rustling the leaves and brushing against their skin like nature’s lullaby.

They were both giggling softly, the kind of laughter that bubbles up after adrenaline and comfort collide.

“You know,” Yn said between breaths, turning slightly so she could look up at him, “you look good blonde, by the way.”

Bob turned beet red. “I—I do?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, nudging his side with her elbow. “You look like a golden retriever who just got promoted to god-tier.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly, hiding his face with his free hand. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I looked like… like a banana with anxiety.”

“Well, now you’re my favorite banana,” she teased.

He laughed harder, a real, full laugh that crinkled his eyes and made his chest shake. “Th-that’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

She shrugged, resting her cheek against his arm again. “We’re weird people.”

They fell into a warm silence after that. Bob slowly turned his head to look at her, her hair haloed by the moonlight, eyes half-lidded in peace.

“Hey, Yn?” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“I think… this is the first time I’ve felt safe. Like… really safe. Since everything changed.”

She looked up at him again, her hand gently finding his. “Then that means we’re doing something right.”

Bob held onto her words like a blanket, wrapping himself in them.

And beneath the quiet woods and glittering sky, the Sentry didn’t feel like a weapon.

He just felt… human.

“I know what we’re going to do tomorrow,” Yn said with a spark in her eyes.

Bob looked at her, resting his cheek on her shoulder, slightly out of breath from their laughter. “What is it?”

She smirked, tapping the tip of his nose. “You’ll see.”

Morning dew clung to the grass like tiny stars as they jogged through the forest path behind Yn’s cabin. The air was crisp, the world still wrapped in the serenity of sunrise. Birds chirped overhead while soft beams of golden light filtered through the trees.

Bob kept pace beside Yn, a little clumsy but doing his best. His blonde hair was pulled back slightly by a band she’d given him, and his old green hoodie bounced with each step. Despite the peaceful setting, he was already panting. “Y-you said this was a jog, not a sprint.”

Yn just laughed, not even winded. “We’re almost there, loverboy.”

They rounded a bend and emerged at a breathtaking lakeside clearing. Mist hovered above the water, and the surface mirrored the rising sun in quiet ripples. The area was secluded, peaceful—a hidden world untouched by chaos.

Bob stopped in awe. “Woah… This place is—”

“My little sanctuary,” Yn said proudly, stretching her arms toward the lake. “This is where I usually train.”

Bob turned to her, surprised. “You train alone?”

“Since I got out of the Red Room,” she replied, her voice steady but soft, layered with quiet strength. “Yeah. It’s where I learned how to be me again.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“Will you be my training buddy now?” she asked, breaking the moment with a wide, playful grin.

Bob blushed faintly but smiled back. “W-well yeah, b-but I don’t really… know how to fight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ll learn,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently to the center of the clearing. “Come on.”

They began with the basics.

Yn stood in front of him, adjusting his stance, gently tapping his knees with her foot to reposition him. “Wider. You’ll fall over if your legs are too close.”

Bob wobbled a little. “L-like this?”

She circled him. “Closer. But not like a penguin, soldier.”

Bob gave a nervous laugh. “I-I’m trying.”

Yn stepped in and took his hands in hers. “Try to push me.”

“What?” he blinked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, standing firm. “Push.”

Bob hesitated, then gave a soft shove.

She didn’t move an inch.

“Okay,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re… weirdly strong.”

“Years of fighting and espresso,” she teased. “Now again.”

They went on for an hour—stance, balance, simple dodges. She guided him step-by-step, her touch steady and reassuring, and though he stumbled (a lot), he laughed with her, even when he tripped over his own foot and fell into the dirt.

She offered a hand. “Training 101: fall with style.”

After catching their breath by the lakeside, Yn turned serious.

“Now let’s try something else,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Close your eyes.”

Bob looked at her, unsure. “What for?”

“Feel the sun. The breeze. The sound of the water.” Her voice softened, coaxing him into calm. “Let the power in you rise slowly. Like the tide. You’re not fighting it—you’re listening to it.”

He closed his eyes.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Golden light flickered along his fingertips, dancing like flames but gentle. Controlled.

Yn smiled. “Good. Now lift that branch.”

Bob raised his hand and the thick log beside them levitated shakily.

“Focus,” she said, stepping behind him, placing a hand on his back. “It’s not about the strength. It’s about clarity.”

Bob’s breath steadied, and so did the log, floating with surprising grace.

“I-I’m doing it…” he whispered.

“You are,” Yn whispered back, beaming.

The log gently lowered to the grass.

He opened his eyes, stunned.

“You did amazing,” she said softly, and Bob turned to her with a tired, proud smile.

“I-I wouldn’t be able to without you,” he said.

“You just needed someone to believe in you, Bob.”

They sat beside each other on the soft earth, the sunlight warming their skin and the lake glistening like a mirror of stars.

Bob took her hand, golden energy still humming faintly at his fingertips.

And for the first time, his power didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like his.

In the high-rise war room of the tower, tension ran like electricity through the air. Valentina's stilettos clicked rapidly across the floor as she paced in frustration, throwing quick glances at the mission timer blinking red on the monitor.

“He’s still not back?” she barked, flinging a tablet onto the conference table. “This mission is in three days and our golden boy is out playing house with some girl?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word.

Val pointed sharply toward her. “Don’t give me that look, Belova. I know you know something. Where is he?”

Yelena shrugged. “Relax. He’s not lost. He just… took a breather.”

Valentina spun, eyes wide. “A breather? He’s the Sentry! He doesn’t get to vanish! Do you even understand what kind of storm I’m dealing with from the U.N. press office? He’s a nuclear-level asset in a relationship with a complete civilian and—God knows—probably barefoot in the forest somewhere meditating under a pine tree!”

Yelena smirked, chewing her gum louder. Ava stood by the window, lips twitching slightly but kept her arms crossed. John Walker was staring at his phone like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Red Guardian was slowly stirring sugar into his coffee.

Valentina kept rambling. “We’re finally getting attention from major allies! The press conference went viral—viral! You know how many eyes are on us right now? We can’t afford to have our headline hero MIA because he caught feelings for some soft-voiced farm girl who sells jam and reads sad poetry!”

Yelena gave a dramatic yawn.

Val's eyes narrowed. “What is this? You’re all unusually quiet.”

No one answered.

A tense silence followed—until Red Guardian slowly took a sip of his coffee and muttered, “Perhaps… he is exactly where he needs to be.”

Val's head snapped toward him. “And where is that, exactly?”

Red Guardian looked over to Yelena. Yelena glanced at Ava. Ava blinked once and looked at John.

All of them avoided Valentina’s eyes.

“Great,” she muttered. “Now you’re all suddenly Buddhist monks and fortune cookies.”

John cleared his throat. “Look, Val. He’ll be back. He always comes back. Maybe he just needed a break from…” he gestured vaguely around the tower, “...all this.”

“He doesn’t get a break!” Val snapped. “He’s not a puppy. He’s a symbol. He is hope. He’s public trust. The Sentry’s dating life cannot override protocol. I’m trying to run a global initiative here, not a matchmaking show!”

Yelena turned her face slightly to hide a grin. Ava blinked at the ceiling. Even John gave a short cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

Valentina glared around the room. “What? What is it now? You all know something I don’t, don’t you?”

The team said nothing.

Yelena popped a bubble and said with a grin, “Maybe if you spent less time micromanaging his hair color and more time listening, you’d be slightly more informed.”

Valentina blinked. “Excuse me?”

Ava finally spoke up, voice calm. “He’s with someone who helps him stay grounded. That’s all that matters.”

Val threw her hands in the air. “Grounded?! I didn’t pull him out of a psych spiral and rebrand him for him to disappear into the woods like some myth!”

Yelena raised her brows, exchanging a quick glance with Ava.

A myth.

If only she knew.

But no one told her. They all knew better. It wasn’t their place—and if Valentina found out Bob was dating The Deathtrap, she'd either panic or try to spin it into a media circus.

Red Guardian murmured, “Let him breathe. You’ll have your golden boy back soon.”

Valentina narrowed her eyes. “He better be camera-ready when he returns. Blonde and brilliant. I won’t tolerate any more stunts.”

The team watched her storm out of the room.

As the doors slid shut, Yelena burst into a quiet laugh. “Camera-ready, she says…”

Ava allowed herself a rare smile. “He’s training harder than ever.”

John chuckled. “And I bet he’s sleeping better too.”

Red Guardian grinned. “Deathtrap always had a way of making even monsters feel human.”

The room quieted again, the weight of the secret shared between them. Outside, the mission timer kept ticking.

But somewhere far from the tower, in a place no cameras could reach, Bob was learning how to breathe again.

And he was in the safest hands possible.

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ⁵

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Context: Protective Bob, Changed Bob?

It had been two days since the conference—two days of peace, laughter, and an unfamiliar lightness in Bob’s chest. He hadn’t felt this free in… he didn’t even know how long. Not since before the experiments. Not since before the Void.

Those days with YN were like fragments of a life he thought he’d never have. Training in the woods, playful teasing, stolen kisses between punches, long walks by the lake, and the quiet comfort of not having to hide who—or what—he was. The most powerful man in the world, and yet it was her presence that made him feel invincible.

That night, Bob lay in bed, comic book in hand, flipping lazily through the pages while YN stepped out of the bathroom in a fresh shirt and shorts, towel-drying her hair. The scent of lavender soap lingered in the air. She didn’t say a word as she slid into bed, curling beside him, her head resting gently on his chest. He set the comic aside and instinctively pulled her closer, fingers tracing slow lines on her back. There were no words spoken.

But in the silence, there was love. Quiet. Whole. Real.

Two warriors with stained pasts, sharing the kind of moment, neither ever believed they deserved.

Sleep eventually took them.

2:03 AM.

YN stirred.

Thirsty.

She slipped from the warmth of Bob’s embrace, careful not to wake him. A quiet smile touched her lips as she looked back at him—blonde hair tousled, brows relaxed, breathing soft. A man the world feared. A man who once feared himself. But to her… he was just Bob.

She padded barefoot across the wooden floor to the kitchen, reaching for a glass. Cool water spilled from the tap into the cup, the gentle stream masking the faintest whisper—

“Deathtrap…”

She froze.

Her spine stiffened. The glass in her hand trembled slightly.

A faint, disembodied whisper, brushing against the shell of her ear like breath.

“You can never escape your sins…”

Her heartbeat quickened.

She turned—but no one was there.

Her vision flickered. Shadows warped across the cabin walls.

“How many have bled because of you?” the voice hissed again, echoing in a tone that didn’t belong in this world. The kitchen grew colder. Darker.

Suddenly, she saw them—ghosts of her past: faceless men, bloodied hands, young girls screaming in cages, targets with bullet holes through their hearts. Screams. Torture. Crimson-soaked floors of the Red Room. The monster they made her be.

“You are the cause of DEATH!”

The voice ROARED—and then—

CRASH.

Everything went black.

Bob’s eyes flew open.

His hand instinctively reached for her side.

Empty.

“YN?” he whispered, sitting up.

No answer.

Then he heard it.

Glass.

He was out of the bed in seconds, bare feet slamming onto the cold floor as he raced to the kitchen.

There she was—collapsed on the floor, blood trickling from her nose, her body limp beside shattered glass.

“No—no no no—” Bob dropped to his knees beside her, gently cupping her cheek. “Hey—hey, YN. Wake up, c’mon. Look at me…”

Her breathing was shallow.

His vision blurred.

His heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum.

“Please,” he whispered, tears threatening. “Don’t do this. Not you.”

He didn’t hesitate. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her close. Without a second thought, he ran out the door and launched upward into the night sky.

He flew.

Not shaky. Not unstable.

Controlled. Steady. Powerful.

The wind howled around him, his jaw clenched as he ascended above the treetops, above the clouds, her figure nestled against his chest like something sacred.

He whispered against her temple, “Hold on. Just hold on…”

Back at the tower, red emergency lights flickered on the tarmac as Bob landed hard against the concrete, nearly collapsing from panic.

“I NEED HELP!” he bellowed as he stormed inside, his voice echoing through the halls.

Guards scrambled.

Medical teams rushed.

Valentina, awakened by the alert, appeared in her silk robe—but before she could say a word, Bob snarled, “Not now.”

And everyone stepped back.

He disappeared into the med bay with YN in his arms.

And outside, the world’s most powerful man—haunted, furious, in love—waited for someone to bring the only person who truly understood him back to life.

The Tower – Emergency Bay Entrance

Valentina stood still, lips parted slightly in shock, as the blur of blonde streaked past her. Bob—The Sentry—his hair gleaming like golden fire in the artificial lights, had just flown in.

Flown, without chaos, without destruction, without flickering out of control. It wasn’t a burst of unstable power or one of his “moments.”

No.

This was precise. Focused.

Controlled.

She’d never seen him like that.

The med bay doors hissed closed behind him, leaving silence in his wake.

Valentina turned slowly, eyes wide, heart thudding. “Did you all see that?” she asked, her voice low but sharp.

Mel, Yelena, and Ava were watching from a distance—silent, uncertain.

“Bob just flew across five zones of restricted airspace, and didn’t obliterate anything on the way down,” Valentina muttered.

“That’s... not normal, is it?” Mel asked cautiously.

Val didn’t answer. Her eyes narrowed.

Instead, she turned back toward the bay doors. For a brief moment, just before they closed, she had seen her—the woman in his arms. Long dark hair, bruised, unconscious, but unmistakably being cradled like the center of his universe.

Val knew that look.

That wasn’t just anyone.

That was someone he would tear the sky apart for.

“Mel,” Valentina said crisply. “I want a background check on the woman The Sentry brought in. Full file. Don’t just search public databases. Dive into the discreet archives. Cross-reference Red Room leaks, off-grid agencies, blacklisted files. I want to know everything.”

Mel hesitated. “That’s… risky. If her file’s where I think it is, there’s a reason no one’s touched it.”

“I don’t care,” Val snapped. “Get it.”

Valentina’s Private Office

The file appeared on her tablet like a ghost dragged from hell.

Codenames. Kills. Disguises. Missions. Photos blurred and redacted. Everything

pointed to a single conclusion:

"Agent 09 – Codename: DEATHTRAP."

Classified Red Room asset. Escaped operative. Assassin with a record so silent the blood never made it to the surface. Thought to be dead. Covered up by the very hands that built her.

Valentina's heart dropped.

Not just some ex-field agent.

The Deathtrap.

And now, she's with the most powerful, unstable superhuman alive.

She leaned back in her chair, brows furrowed, lips tight.

“This can’t go public…”

If the media caught wind that The Sentry—the beacon of unstable godhood—was in an intimate relationship with a former red room assassin whose history involved disappearances, assassinations, and international sabotage?

The world would erupt.

Critics would feast on it.

The fragile hope the U.S. was clinging to by using Bob as a symbol of control and peace? It would shatter.

“Hell,” she muttered, her fingers tapping rapidly.

The Sentry and the Deathtrap.

Not a love story the public would forgive. Not a pairing politicians would condone.

And definitely not something Valentina was going to let spiral out of her hands.

Medbay

Yelena approached the bay doors cautiously, arms crossed as she leaned on the frame. Bob was seated beside YN’s unconscious form, her hand held tightly in his.

“Bob,” she called gently. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t look up. “Not now, Yelena.”

“It’s about Val,” she added softly.

That made him pause.

He let out a slow breath, brushing his thumb across YN’s knuckles before standing. “Make it quick.”

Yelena led him into the hallway, casting one final glance at the room before they exited.

Medbay Room

As soon as the coast was clear, Valentina entered—silent, composed, her heels making soft clicks against the floor.

There she was.

The infamous Deathtrap.

Now just a pale figure against white sheets, her dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks, lips parted slightly in slumber. She looked… human. Not the assassin whose file had made Val’s blood run cold.

“I can’t risk all of this because of you,” Val whispered coldly, leaning in just slightly. “You're a ticking time bomb next to a man made of pure destruction. If you go off, he goes with you.”

“Val” Bob’s voice called out.

Val froze, slowly straightening. She turned and found him standing at the doorway, Yelena behind him.

His eyes were glowing—faint at first, golden flickers rising like embers. His jaw was clenched tight, fists slowly balling at his sides.

“Robert—” Valentina forced a small smile. “I was just looking after her. That’s all.”

Bob stepped forward. The lights overhead dimmed slightly as a pulse of heat rippled through the air. “Get away from her.”

Val’s smile faltered. “Robert, listen. This relationship—it’s dangerous. If the public finds out who she really is, it won’t end with headlines. The agencies still watching Red Room defectors—those who want to erase their past failures—will come after her. The media will paint her as a manipulator. They’ll track her. Or worse…”

She hesitated, her voice dropping.

“…they’ll terminate her.”

The air shifted.

Something cracked beneath Bob’s skin.

And when he spoke again, the voice that answered was not entirely his.

It was lower. Metallic. Empty and god-like.

“Not if I terminate them first.”

Valentina’s blood ran cold. She took a step back.

“R-Robert, that’s not you talking right now,” she said carefully. “You’re losing control.”

But his eyes—fully golden now—glared at her with fury and clarity. It wasn’t the Void. It wasn’t madness.

It was The Sentry, and he was lucid.

“I am in control,” he said, his voice calm but vibrating with raw power. “And I will protect her from anyone. You. Them. The world.”

Valentina swallowed hard.

“Robert, please. You don’t understand what she’s capable of.”

“No,” he said darkly. “You don’t understand what I’m capable of when someone threatens the only peace I’ve ever known.”

Yelena quietly stepped beside him, speaking only for him to hear. “Bob, let’s take her somewhere safe. You don’t owe Val anything.”

Bob slowly turned his back to Valentina and walked back toward YN’s room. The light dimmed again. The pressure eased.

As he disappeared behind the doors, Val stood frozen.

Shaken.

And for the first time since The Sentry was under her command…

She was afraid.

Medbay – Late Night

The silence in the medbay was thick, broken only by the gentle hum of the machines monitoring YN’s vitals.

Bob sat at her side, his broad form curled over her still hand, his thumb gently brushing her knuckles. He was no longer glowing, but his eyes were distant, almost hollow—like he was somewhere else entirely.

“I can feel her,” he whispered.

Everyone turned toward him.

“I can feel her mind—even now. It’s like standing in front of a locked vault filled with knives. Everything she hides is screaming beneath the surface. And it terrifies me,” he said, voice cracking softly. “Not because I fear her… but because I know what it’s like to carry that weight.”

He lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand.

“I may possess these abilities… but they crush me. And yet she carries all of this without ever asking anyone to save her.”

Across the room, Yelena sat cross-legged on the small couch, her jaw tight, fists clenched. Ava was beside her, quiet. Bucky stood by the window, arms crossed, his reflection staring back at him from the glass.

Yelena looked down.

“YN was an individual assassin in the Red Room,” she began, her voice low, but steady. “While most of us trained together and worked in assigned departments, she was sent on missions alone. Covert. Isolated. Disposable.”

She paused, biting her lip before continuing.

“They trained her harder than the rest of us. Not because she was the weakest… but because she was too good.”

Everyone looked at her.

Yelena’s eyes grew glossy.

Flash.

A memory seared into her thoughts.

FLASHBACK – Red Room

The training hall was dim and cold. Lined with mirrors and bloodstained mats.

Young girls—no older than 10—stood at attention, heads bowed.

From the center, a sharp crack echoed.

A young girl, YN, lay on her stomach, struggling to breathe. A cold voice rang out from the instructors:

“Again. Get up, Deathtrap.”

A shadowed hand yanked her to her feet, only to strike her back down when her stance faltered.

The others watched, unmoving. Fearful.

Yelena, younger and wide-eyed, stood among them—watching as YN’s mouth bled from the impact of a boot.

“You embarrass us!” the instructor roared.

YN did not cry.

But her eyes…

They burned with pain.

BACK TO PRESENT

“I remember her scream,” Yelena whispered, staring at the floor. “She didn’t cry. But the sound she made when they broke her rib that day… it never left me.”

Bob’s jaw clenched.

“I saw it,” he murmured. “When I touched her hand, I saw it all. The blood. The chains. The way they erased her name and gave her a title like she was a weapon.”

He looked at the group. His expression unreadable, but his voice trembled with something primal.

“She’s not the Deathtrap. She’s not a weapon.”

Bucky turned from the window, nodding slowly.

“No,” he agreed. “She’s survivor.”

Bob looked down at her again. “And I swear… no one will ever hurt her again. Not while I breathe.”

Silence fell again. But this time it was different.

A shared burden. A united promise.

The girl who had been alone for so long… was no longer alone.

Bob hadn’t moved from his place beside her. YN’s hand, cold but steady, remained cradled in his. The others had drifted to sleep or silence, the medbay dim under the glow of a single lamp. But his mind wasn’t here.

His eyes glowed faintly gold.

He was seeing again.

FLASHBACK – Red Room Facility (a year before escape)

The scene unfolded in his mind as if he were standing there.

The Red Room was more sterile now. Cold white lights. Concrete walls.

A steel table sat in the center of a small chamber. Shackles lined its edge. The room reeked of blood and betrayal.

An older YN—perhaps 18—stood tall in the center, her expression unreadable, her face bruised. Her lip was split. Blood trailed down her temple.

A superior paced before her, voice laced with venom.

"You failed to eliminate the target’s child. That child now leads a resistance. Your weakness costs us money, time, and dominance."

“I followed the primary order,” YN said through gritted teeth. “The child was not the target.”

The superior’s eyes flared.

SLAP.

The strike made her stumble, but she didn’t fall.

“Disobeying is treason, Deathtrap,” the woman spat. “And treason demands correction.”

Two guards dragged her by the arms toward the table. She struggled. Kicked. But they were stronger.

The restraints clamped onto her wrists.

A voltage switch was flipped.

Searing pain erupted.

Her scream was guttural, tearing through the walls and echoing into the abyss.

Bob, watching through the vision, clutched his chest.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t stop it.

He saw her eyes. Defiant. Broken. Burning.

The vision blurred—fading—

BACK TO PRESENT – Medbay

“NO—!” YN gasped awake, choking back a scream as tears gushed from her eyes.

Bob jolted forward. “Hey—hey, you’re okay. YN, I’m here.”

She sat upright, shaking, her breath rapid and panicked, her eyes wild and disoriented.

He cupped her face gently. “Look at me… it’s me, it’s Bob. You’re safe.”

“Don’t let them take me back,” she whispered in terror. “Don’t let them—don’t let them chain me again—”

“I won’t,” he said, tears brimming in his eyes. “Never. You hear me? I’ll burn the whole world before anyone touches you again.”

She collapsed into him, sobbing into his chest. He held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her like a shield.

Yelena and the others stirred, eyes watching the two silently, solemnly.

“She’s remembering,” Bucky said, arms crossed. “And that’s not always healing. Sometimes it hurts worse than the wounds themselves.”

“But she’s not remembering alone anymore,” Yelena whispered.

Bob leaned down, pressing his lips to YN’s temple, brushing her damp hair back.

“I saw you,” he murmured. “Everything they did. You kept going. Even when it broke you.”

She didn’t speak, just cried quietly.

“But you’re free now, YN. You’re free. And I’m never letting you be alone in that darkness again.”

Later That Day – Sentry’s Quarters, Avengers Tower

Bob had spent the last few hours gently holding her—arms tight but soft—as if to keep her soul from falling apart again. He didn’t speak much, only when necessary. He let the silence do the comforting this time. And finally, YN fell asleep again, her fingers still gripping his shirt like it was the only anchor left in her sea of trauma.

When she awoke, he was already watching her.

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

He gave a small, uncertain smile. “I want you to stay here... in the tower. Just until you feel better. I—I don’t want you out there alone.”

YN blinked at him, surprised. “Bob, I’m not exactly... good at staying in one place.”

“I know,” he said, “but I think you need it. You deserve peace.”

She looked at his eyes—so open, so filled with concern—and nodded.

Bob’s Room, Later

“Okay, this is not what I expected from the so-called Most Dangerous Being on Earth,” YN teased as she wandered around his room.

Bob looked embarrassed as she pointed to the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck unevenly on the ceiling.

“Alexei put those up,” he muttered quickly. “Said I needed to ‘embrace inner child wonder’ or something.”

“They’re kinda cute,” she said, smirking. “Just like you.”

Bob flushed immediately. “I—I—uh—thank you.”

YN's gaze moved to a shelf of neatly lined-up photos. Some were framed, others were just taped clumsily against the wall. One caught her eye—a group shot from the recent international conference. The New Avengers in uniform. Bob stood in the center—taller than the rest, golden light faintly radiating from his chest. He looked... powerful. Confident. Like the Sentry.

“You look the most Sentry-ish in here,” she commented, pointing at the image.

“Y-yeah?” Bob stuttered, scratching the back of his neck. “You like it?”

“Well, yeah,” YN said, then smiled, eyes locking with his. “But I like my Bob the most.”

That one line sent his heart spiraling. His cheeks tinted red and his voice got caught in his throat.

The team gathered around the holo-table. Valentina wasn’t present, but the mission brief was loaded. Bucky, Yelena, Ava, John, Alexei and Bob stood in uniform, the tension thick.

“Midnight op,” Yelena muttered. “Extraction job in a Hydra outpost. Minimal resistance if we’re fast.”

“Mel, you cover the comms. Bucky, left flank. Ava, cloaked breach,” Yelena ordered.

YN stood just outside the room, arms crossed. “You know I can help. I’ve breached Hydra bases before you even grew facial hair.”

Bob approached her with a soft smile, taking her hands in his. “I know. But I want you to rest. I need you to rest.”

YN sighed. “Fine. But I’m watching the cams and the comms.”

“Only if you promise not to sneak out mid-mission.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

Several Hours Later

The tower was silent again. YN paced in Bob’s room anxiously, eyes darting between the monitor and the door.

Then—

WHOOSH.

The elevator opened. Heavy boots hit the hallway.

“BOB!” she called, running to the door.

Bob stepped in, his uniform torn, dried blood on his temple, chest rising with adrenaline—but his face lit up when he saw her.

“You’re okay,” YN breathed, hugging him tightly.

“We got it. Everyone’s safe,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “But all I thought about was getting back to you.”

She pulled back, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

They both smiled.

Bob had already showered and changed into a loose shirt. YN was curled under his covers, warm and waiting.

He slid in beside her wordlessly, pulling her close. Her back pressed to his chest, their legs tangled under the sheets. His arm wrapped around her middle like instinct, and her hand rested over his.

They didn’t need to talk. Not tonight.

The stars above them glowed faintly—reminders of peace, childhood, and something to dream about.

They fell asleep like that—hearts thudding in sync, nightmares kept at bay, just a broken man with godlike power and a girl shaped by shadows finally letting themselves be soft in a world that never was.

The training room buzzed with movement, light filtering through the glass panels of the tower. Yn stood in the center mat, opposite Yelena, both women in loose sparring gear. Bucky stood between them, arms folded, acting as both coach and referee.

"Alright, Deathtrap," Yelena said with a smirk, stretching her neck. "Let’s see if you’re still sharp after lying in bed with your glowing boyfriend."

Yn snorted. “Don’t hold back, Belova. I’m not the one who got tossed across the lake last week.”

From the viewing deck just above, Bob watched intently. His arms were crossed, lips pressed into a line. He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on Yn’s every movement. His heart tensed every time Yelena struck, even in play.

“She’s got this,” Bucky said, standing on the side, correcting Yn’s stance gently with a nod. “Back foot stronger, Yn. Trust your core. Breathe.”

Bob flinched subtly when Yelena faked a punch toward Yn’s face, but Yn caught it swiftly and countered with a clean sweep of Yelena’s leg. Yelena dropped to the mat with a loud thud, laughing breathlessly.

“Damn, okay!” Yelena grinned from the floor. “You’ve still got it.”

Bob exhaled softly, shoulders easing.

Bucky offered Yelena a hand up, then clapped Yn on the shoulder. “Good instincts. Your reflexes are still deadly.”

Up on the deck, Mel approached Bob. “You should relax. She can handle herself.”

Bob didn’t take his eyes off the mat. “I know. I just... I know what she’s been through. And I don’t want her to get hurt again. Not now.”

Mel gave a half-smile, then walked away, leaving Bob alone with his quiet thoughts and the sight of the woman who had unknowingly become his center of gravity.

After a few more practice rounds, Bucky clapped his hands. “That’s enough for today. Stretch it out and hydrate.”

Yelena groaned playfully, wiping sweat from her brow. “You’re a harsh trainer, Barnes.”

Yn offered her a hand towel and a chuckle before subtly glancing up at the viewing deck. Her eyes locked on Bob—he wasn’t moving. He was just standing there, tense, brows drawn together like he was in another place entirely.

“Give me a sec,” Yn murmured to Bucky and Yelena before quietly stepping off the mat and jogging up the stairs.

She found Bob standing by the railing, unmoving. His eyes flicked to her as she approached, but he didn’t speak. Yn stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing her thumb against his wrist. “You good?”

Bob swallowed, his voice low. “You took a hit earlier. To the ribs. I saw your face for a second—you winced.”

Yn tilted her head and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s sparring, Bob. That’s part of it. I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I know. I just... I guess I wasn’t ready to see you fight again. Not like that. I kept thinking—what if something goes wrong? What if I’m not fast enough?”

Yn moved to stand in front of him, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I’m not glass, Bob. And I’ve been through far worse, you know that. But I’m here. With you. And I’m stronger now—not because I’m alone, but because I have someone who worries. That’s not weakness.”

Bob looked down at her, eyes filled with something tender and almost boyish, like he was still learning how to hold fragile things. “I just want to protect you. Always.”

“You do,” she whispered, rising to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “But you don’t have to shield me from who I am.”

He let out a small breath, his hand coming up to rest on her waist. “Still... maybe I’ll ask Bucky to teach me a few moves.”

Yn smiled, eyes crinkling. “Deal. But only if I get to watch and laugh when he pins you.”

Bob chuckled, finally letting the tension drop from his shoulders.

From the shadows of the upper deck, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed, watching the sparring session wrap up below.

But she wasn’t watching Yelena, or Bucky, or even Deathtrap—not really.

Her attention was locked on Bob Reynolds.

No, not Bob—the Sentry. Or at least, the man who used to walk like he didn’t belong in his own skin. The man who once fidgeted in meetings, stammered through reports, who avoided eye contact with world leaders. That Bob slouched. That Bob mumbled. That Bob felt like a glass doll they couldn’t afford to break.

But this man?

This man stood with his back straight, arms folded with quiet control. His eyes were sharp. Focused. Calm but alert. Present.

Even when he didn’t speak, his posture did—and it said: “I know who I am. And I know what I’m capable of.”

It unsettled Val.

“Something’s changed,” she muttered under her breath.

Mel, standing just behind her with a datapad in hand, raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am?”

Val didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head as she watched Bob lean in toward Deathtrap—Yn—and whisper something that made her smile and swat lightly at his chest. It was so casual, so natural, it didn’t make sense.

That’s not how the Sentry is supposed to be. He was a nuclear weapon with a fragile trigger—not someone who looked at an assassin like she hung the moon.

Val crossed her arms tighter. “When did he stop stuttering?” she said aloud this time.

Mel frowned. “Three weeks ago. Ever since he came back from his... hiatus. With her.”

“Hm.”

Something was brewing. Something deep. Something not covered in mission briefs or damage reports. The change in Bob wasn’t just a romantic softening—it was a stabilizing. That woman—that Deathtrap—wasn’t just some fling. She was anchoring him.

And anchors can either keep ships grounded... or drag them under.

Valentina exhaled sharply and turned away.

“Keep eyes on them. Discreetly. I don’t like variables I can’t control.”

Mel nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

As they walked down the corridor, Val cast one last glance at Bob.

He didn’t notice.

He wasn’t the same man anymore.

And that made him unpredictable.

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[gyucheolstan]

sighs i need good luck

[moonchild1]

i could use some luck hey

[bluelavendre]

SO OBSESSED OF ZOMBIE AU T.T

[bluelavendre]

Apocalypse

JJK x Reader ft. Namjoon &???

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

Police officer jjk x Doctor Reader ft.???

1/??

The low hum of an approaching engine disrupted the quiet morning air. A black patrol car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a corner café tucked into a sleepy town street—quaint, quiet, and still unaware of the chaos that would one day come.

The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man who turned more than a few heads on a daily basis. Officer Jeon Jungkook. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his uniform shirt, the tattoos winding down his arms just barely hidden beneath the fabric. His dark hair was brushed back, still damp from a morning shower, and a pair of sunglasses dangled carelessly between his fingers. He slid them on as he walked toward the café, the heavy soles of his boots thudding rhythmically on the pavement.

The bell above the café door gave a cheerful chime as he stepped inside, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and warm pastries. It smelled like comfort, like routine—like everything that made life feel normal.

“Good morning, Officer Jeon! The usual?” called Minho, the young barista behind the counter, already grinning as he pulled two cups from the stack.

“Make it two today, Minho,” Jungkook said with a small smile, voice low and smooth.

Minho raised a brow knowingly. “Feeding the beast in the passenger seat?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chuckled, pulling a few bills from his wallet.

Within minutes, two steaming cups of coffee and a paper bag filled with breakfast burritos were packed up and ready. Jungkook gave Minho a small nod of thanks before stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

He slid into the driver’s seat and handed over the goods. His partner, Officer Kim Namjoon, immediately perked up.

“Finally,” Namjoon said, lifting the lid off his coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Jeon Jungkook is buying breakfast. This is a historic day.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Jungkook muttered, biting into his burrito.

Their patrol car sat idling quietly at the curb as they ate, eyes casually scanning the street as morning life began to bloom—pedestrians with briefcases, joggers, a dog walker or two.

Then the café door opened again, and something—or rather, someone—shifted in Jungkook’s peripheral vision.

A woman stepped out, her coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. She was on the phone, her voice soft but purposeful. A doctor, judging by the embroidered name tag barely visible on her coat pocket. Hair pulled into a clean ponytail, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her every move was graceful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Namjoon, ever the observer, turned his head and caught the expression on his partner’s face. A teasing grin curled on his lips.

“Officer Jeon,” he said in a mockingly serious tone. “You forgot your sunglasses.”

Jungkook blinked. “Aish, Kim. What are you on about now?”

“I can literally see the puppy eyes,” Namjoon smirked, wiggling his brows like a high schooler watching his friend fall in love.

“She’s my neighbor, hyung,” Jungkook said defensively, but his voice lacked bite.

“Ohh,” Namjoon said with a slow nod. “I get it now. Jeon Jungkook—town hero, proud defender of the people, protector of the innocent—just casually keeping an eye out for the neighborhood doctor. How noble.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and started the engine, trying to hide the way his ears were burning.

“She’s married,” he added after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nearly choked on his burrito. “She’s what?!”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

The tires crunched over gravel as their patrol car pulled into the lot behind the station. The morning sun glinted off the rows of parked cruisers, the building standing tall in its quiet authority. Jungkook killed the engine, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out with a sigh, his boots hitting the ground with that familiar solid thud.

Namjoon scrambled out after him, still gripping his half-finished coffee.

“Wait—wait, are you for real?” he called, jogging to catch up. “She’s married? Married? To who? When?!”

Jungkook didn’t break stride as he pushed through the glass doors of the station.

“To who?” Namjoon repeated behind him. “She? That doctor? Your neighbor? What??”

Inside, the familiar scent of fresh paperwork and old floor polish filled the air. Officers passed them, nodding greetings, typing reports, making calls. Jungkook just walked faster, trying to lose his partner in the maze of desks and hallways.

“Move on, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, finally stopping by his locker. He opened it with a clang, swapping out his jacket, his expression unreadable.

Namjoon leaned on the wall beside him, still staring like he’d just been told Santa Claus was real and cheating on Mrs. Claus.

“I mean… I just didn’t expect that. She doesn’t wear a ring,” he said more quietly this time, voice finally softening.

“She used to,” Jungkook replied, not looking up.

Namjoon frowned. “Divorced?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “Military. He’s deployed. Hasn’t been home in years. But she still waits for him.”

That shut Namjoon up for a moment.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly as he pulled out his body cam, checking the battery like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “So yeah… move on, hyung.”

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched his partner in silence, something unspoken passing between them. He saw it now—the way Jungkook watched her, not just with attraction, but with quiet longing. A kind of ache no training could fix.

And maybe... the kind of ache that would only get worse.

Night had fallen, and the once-bustling streets were now quiet, bathed in the glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Jeon Jungkook sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, parked just outside his modest home. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, the radio silent for the first time all day.

He looked over.

Her car was already there—parked in its usual spot just next to his. And there she was.

Out in her front yard, crouched down with a small dish in her hands, she fed the same group of stray cats that always seemed to show up around dusk. She was barefoot, dressed in her familiar nighttime attire: a loose white top and a pair of worn-out Stitch pajama pants that looked two sizes too big—probably her husband's. There was a quiet comfort in how soft and normal it all felt.

Jungkook took a slow breath, adjusting his cap before stepping out of the car.

As if sensing him, she looked up with a small smile. “Good evening, Officer Jeon.”

Her voice was light, teasing, and yet… there was something warm in the way she said his name. Like he belonged in this tiny sliver of her world.

Jungkook felt something flutter in his chest. Damn that voice.

He tipped his cap, the one with the embroidered police emblem on the front. “Good evening, Doctor.”

She raised a brow, her smile growing. “The formalities again, Officer?”

He chuckled as he walked toward her yard. “You called me Officer first… and that’s the second time you’ve called me Doctor Y/L/N.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving him off playfully. “Good evening, Jungkook-shii.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Feeding time, huh?”

“Yep,” she said simply, scratching one of the cats behind its ears. “They’re starting to expect me now. I’m probably in trouble if I ever forget.”

Jungkook leaned against the low fence, watching the cats briefly before glancing back at her. “How was your day?”

She sighed, the weariness finally catching up to her as she sat back on her heels. “Rough. We had… a boy come into the ER today. Maybe ten years old. Violent. Ferocious. It took four of us to hold him down. We thought it was rabies, but…” Her voice trailed off. “We’re still running tests.”

The easy atmosphere shifted slightly. Jungkook’s posture straightened, the officer in him taking over. “That doesn’t sound like just rabies,” he said, voice low. “You should be careful, Doc. Some things hide behind friendly faces.”

He nodded toward the cat closest to her feet. It looked up innocently with round eyes and a twitching tail.

She glanced at the cat, then back at him with a small, amused smile. “Note taken, sir.”

They stood there for a beat, the wind brushing lightly through the trees, the rustling leaves whispering like secrets in the dark.

“I should probably go inside,” she said softly, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Goodnight again, Jungkook-shii.”

Jungkook gave her a small nod, watching as she stepped back into her yard, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she opened her door. She turned back once more, smiled, and disappeared inside.

Only then did Jungkook finally head toward his own front door, unlocking it slowly, his eyes flicking one last time to her porch.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once.

Then again.

Louder.

And then it suddenly stopped.

The soft blue of early morning clung to the neighborhood like a blanket, cool and quiet. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, and the sky had only started its slow stretch toward dawn.

Jeon Jungkook was already outside.

His front porch creaked slightly under the rhythm of his push-ups—steady, controlled, but if you watched closely, you’d see his tempo waver every now and then. Not from fatigue.

From glancing toward the house next door.

The cool air kissed his skin, dew clinging to the wooden planks beneath him. His black tank top clung to his sculpted frame, soaked slightly with early sweat. The ink along his arms was on full display in the soft dawn light—script tattoos weaving around his right forearm, elegant cursive mingling with delicate symbols, a tiger lily peeking near the inside of his elbow. A bold eye on his forearm seemed to watch the world with him.

The one that always drew the most attention was the sleeve on his right hand—"Truth" and "Rather be dead than cool" etched between sharp black lines and sacred geometry, crawling up his wrist and knuckles like shadows from a dream. There was a faint glint of the “ARMY” tattoo just below his thumb—a tribute to loyalty and memory—and near the inside of his bicep, a barely noticeable date in Roman numerals. Something personal. Something he never talked about.

He told himself this was just part of his routine. Push-ups. Mind clear. Stay strong. Protect people.

But this morning, like every morning lately, it was more than that.

He was waiting.

And right on time, the porch light flicked on next door.

She stepped outside, barefoot and blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose as she carried a steaming mug to the porch railing. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and those familiar Stitch pajama pants—clearly from another life—she looked as soft and out of place in this gritty world as spring snow.

Jungkook paused, holding a push-up mid-motion. His gaze softened.

She looked around at the sound of paws and claws on wood—stray cats gathering near her like a daily ritual. She poured kibble into their little bowl and murmured something gentle he couldn’t hear from this distance.

Then, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

“Do you ever sleep, Jungkook-shii?” she called across the stillness, her voice cracking a little from sleep.

He stood, grabbing the towel from the porch railing and casually wiping his arms—inking catching the light. “Morning cardio. Gotta stay in shape in case someone needs rescuing.”

She lifted her cup in mock salute. “Ah, the neighborhood hero returns.”

“Always on duty, Doctor,” he replied, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

But he noticed it—the brief flicker behind her eyes. The slight downturn of her mouth before she masked it with a sip of coffee.

“Everything alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just… weird dreams. And the hospital called earlier. The boy from yesterday—he’s missing.”

Jungkook’s easy demeanor vanished.

“Missing?” he repeated, brows knitting.

“They had him restrained. Last night’s security footage got corrupted somehow, and when the nurses did rounds this morning, he was just… gone.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. His hand unconsciously drifted to the tattoo over his chest, hidden under fabric—a symbol of resilience he got the day after his first failed case. A quiet reminder to never let things slip through the cracks.

“Could be something,” he said carefully. “I’ll check in with dispatch. See if anything’s been flagged overnight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

He didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t sure it was nothing.

A strange silence lingered between them, until she spoke again.

“Well… I should get ready for work. See you later, Jungkook-shii,” she said, offering a tired smile.

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer.

“Be safe, Doctor.”

She turned, disappearing inside.

And Jungkook stood there for a while longer, the cool air biting at his inked skin, unease creeping under his ribs.

Somewhere, deep in the city, another siren wailed.

Jungkook pulled into the precinct parking lot just as the city stirred to life. The rising sun painted the sky in smudges of coral and gray, but the air felt heavier than usual—like the day knew something no one else did yet.

He stepped out of the cruiser, fingers instinctively adjusting the bulletproof vest under his jacket. The precinct doors buzzed open, and he was immediately met with Namjoon pacing near the monitor wall, brows drawn tight.

“Jungkook,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got another one. This one’s bad.”

Namjoon tapped the screen, and a grainy video clip began to play. It looked like security cam footage from a small gas station somewhere in the west outskirts of Seoul. A young man—barefoot, bloodied, twitching—stumbled into frame. The clerk behind the counter started shouting. But the boy didn’t flinch. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Feral.

Then he lunged.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched the chaos erupt on-screen. Screams. Shaking camera. The boy biting—tearing—into someone’s arm before the feed cut.

Namjoon exhaled shakily. “Same symptoms. Unresponsive to speech. Aggressive. Animalistic.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the precinct door banged open.

“ATTENTION!”

Every officer in the room snapped up from their stations. The chief walked in, tall and sharp in his pressed uniform, a file in one hand and urgency in his steps.

“At ease,” the chief barked, dropping the folder onto the front desk. “Listen up. Things are escalating.”

He looked at each officer, locking eyes.

“The hospital has started reporting a growing number of bite-related injuries. Mostly erratic behavior. Some… fatal. The government’s flagged this as a potential outbreak scenario. Low-level for now, but spreading.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Jungkook didn’t move. His mind immediately flashed to her. The way she looked this morning. The concern in her voice when she said “we barely restrained him.”

The chief continued. “As of this morning, all precincts have been ordered to begin collaboration with local hospitals. Ours has been assigned to Seoul Medical East—where the first recorded case was brought in.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

That was her hospital.

“You’ll work closely with doctors for intel, security, and containment if necessary,” the chief said. “This is no longer just a public disturbance issue—it’s a medical emergency. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped back as the officers got to work, some grouping around computer terminals, others checking radios and prepping riot gear. Namjoon nudged Jungkook, concern etched across his face.

“Your doctor friend,” he said quietly, “that’s her hospital, right?”

Jungkook nodded, grabbing his gear.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The convoy of police cruisers roared down the main avenue, their sirens piercing the thick tension in the air. Flashing red and blue lights danced across the hospital's white facade, casting eerie glows on panicked faces and shattered windows.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked, heart pounding like a war drum.

As soon as they arrived, the scene exploded before them—nurses screaming, patients writhing on stretchers, and doctors desperately trying to sedate bodies that thrashed like wild animals.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon whispered beside him, stepping out of the car. “It’s worse than the footage.”

The emergency entrance was a warzone. One nurse flew backward, her shoulder slammed by a middle-aged man foaming at the mouth. Another patient bit down hard on a stretcher’s metal rail, teeth cracking.

“READY, MEN!” the chief barked, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His hand shot into the air, commanding immediate formation.

“All teams—gear up! Secure perimeter, and assist medical staff where necessary. We are not here to kill—we are here to contain!” the chief ordered.

He turned sharply toward Jungkook, eyes hard. “Officer Jeon—I’m putting you in charge of interior containment with your squad.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook responded, saluting sharply.

He spun to his men, voice loud and unwavering despite the panic around them.

“Alpha team—assist the nurses in the ER, use riot shields if needed! Beta team, lock down the west hallway and keep ferals from crossing over to ICU! No guns unless absolutely necessary—we do not shoot civilians!”

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded, immediately breaking into teams.

Jungkook's boots thundered against the tile as he rushed inside, weaving through overturned chairs and knocked-over IV stands. The hospital interior looked like a scene from a horror movie—blood smeared on walls, flickering lights, oxygen tanks rolling loose across the floor.

He scanned faces—nurses, doctors, infected—desperately searching for one in particular.

Where was she?

Then—

Through a half-open door in the east wing, he heard a familiar voice.

“No—please stay still—you're hurting yourself! Mr. Han, stop—STOP!”

Jungkook burst into the room.

There she was—struggling to restrain an elderly patient whose face had turned a sickly gray, pupils dilated, veins dark and raised under translucent skin. He snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog, knocking over a tray of medical tools.

Without thinking, Jungkook lunged forward.

He grabbed the old man from behind, using his strength to pin him against the wall.

“Doc, MOVE!” he shouted.

She stumbled back, panting, eyes wide with panic and relief.

“Jungkook-shii—he bit two nurses,” she gasped. “I couldn’t sedate him—he broke the restraints.”

Jungkook wrestled the man to the ground, twisting his wrists into an emergency zip tie restraint. “Namjoon!” he shouted into his radio, “Get two officers to Room 203! I need backup and a gurney!”

Static crackled before Namjoon responded. “On it!”

She was still breathing hard, her hands trembling. Jungkook looked up at her, eyes full of worry.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I—he almost got me, but I’m okay.”

Jungkook stood, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll keep you close.”

Outside the room, more screams echoed.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Something terrible was unfolding here.

BANG!

The thunderous sound of a gunshot echoed through the hospital hallway, sharp and deafening. Jungkook instinctively pulled her down behind a tipped-over gurney, shielding her body with his own as the high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

“NO SHOOTING!” Jungkook roared into his radio. “We’re surrounded by civilians—HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

But his voice barely cut through the chaos.

Inside the room, Mr. Han’s head snapped violently toward the nurse beside him—eyes wide, veins throbbing beneath his skin—and without warning, he lunged. His teeth sank into her neck before anyone could stop it.

“NO!” the nurse screamed—just once—before her voice turned into gurgled, wet gasps. Blood sprayed across the floor, slick and red.

Jungkook shoved her behind him. “Stay down!” he barked.

The nurse staggered backward, clawing at the wall—but her eyes were already changing. Dilated. Glazed. Her body twitched unnaturally, jerking in spasms that looked less like pain and more like possession.

She locked eyes with Jungkook.

And then—she lunged, growling.

“Kook, MOVE!”

The door slammed open and Namjoon charged in with two officers. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired.

BANG. BANG.

The nurse’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath her. Mr. Han was next, restrained but still snarling like a beast, veins pulsing like snakes under his skin.

“We had no choice, Kook,” Namjoon said breathlessly, lowering his weapon. “They’re not human anymore. They’re too strong.”

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up—one moment it was a hospital, the next, a battlefield.

She slowly stood beside him, blood splattered on her cheek, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“This isn’t rabies…” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s something worse.”

Jungkook turned to Namjoon. “Get the survivors out. Lock every damn hallway. We need quarantine zones—now.”

“On it,” Namjoon said, signaling his officers.

Jungkook turned back to her, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re coming with me.”

She hesitated. “I—I can’t leave my patients—”

“There are no more patients,” Jungkook said, eyes haunted. “There are only survivors.”

Their eyes met. And in that moment, they both knew:

Something had begun.

“We only have a few survivors, sir!” an officer reported, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes wide with panic.

Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon sprinted toward the remaining cluster of police officers huddled near the ER exit. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—closer now—and the once-bustling hospital was now a battlefield of overturned stretchers, broken glass, and moaning bodies.

“We need to move,” the Chief barked. His face was pale, his uniform stained with blood. His hand gripped his side tightly, but he kept his composure. “Fall back to the station—we need an emergency meeting. The military has been contacted. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour.”

Y/N stepped forward, catching the subtle shake in the Chief’s hand, the way he was trying not to limp. Her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing, keeping the observation to herself for now.

“Sir,” she said urgently, “some infected patients ran out into the streets. If we don’t act now, this won’t stay contained. We’ll need to evacuate the city. The virus—whatever this is—it spreads too fast.”

The Chief glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. He hesitated just for a moment—barely long enough to notice.

“We’ll discuss it at the station,” he said. “Doctor, we’ll need you there. The government wants input from the frontline—we can’t stand out here any longer. It’s not safe.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook said, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward his cruiser. The tension in his jaw was tighter than ever.

She slid into the front passenger seat, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the seatbelt. Jungkook slid into the driver’s side, immediately starting the engine. Namjoon took the back seat, loading his rifle beside him with grim silence.

As they pulled out, the scene around them grew worse with every block. Seoul had begun to fall.

Fires had broken out in the distance. Cars were abandoned in the middle of intersections. People ran down sidewalks screaming, dragging children behind them. Some banged on shop doors, begging to be let in. Others… weren’t human anymore.

A man slammed into their windshield briefly, growling—his face covered in blood—before he was thrown off as Jungkook swerved.

“This is hell already,” Namjoon muttered from the back seat, gripping his weapon tightly. “How the fuck did it spread this fast?”

Y/N stared out the window, watching as a woman knelt in the street, clutching the limp body of a child. “It’s air-borne, or blood-borne—or both,” she whispered. “The incubation time is almost nonexistent.”

Jungkook’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the road, jaw locked, scanning every corner for threats. He was no longer just an officer. He was a protector now. Not just of the city—but of her.

“I’m getting you both to safety,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sirens faded as they neared the station.

But even there—chaos was waiting.

The police station, once a place of routine, reports, and quiet paperwork, had transformed into a nerve center buzzing with dread. Officers ran in and out, phones rang constantly, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with the weight of a city crumbling outside.

Inside the briefing room, the air was tense. Everyone was on edge—some still in their bloodied uniforms, others clearly fresh from patrols. Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon entered, the sound of their boots echoing off the tile floor. Y/N immediately felt the shift in atmosphere—this wasn’t just a city crisis anymore. This was a national emergency.

The Chief stood at the front, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave her a quick glance—one that lingered just a little too long—but said nothing. Behind him, a projection screen blinked to life.

Security footage rolled.

One clip after another.

Doctors being dragged down hallways.

Nurses screaming as feral patients lunged at them.

A young boy in restraints suddenly snapping two guards' arms with unnatural strength.

A woman coughing up blood in an alleyway before attacking her own brother.

The room fell into silence except for the faint static of the audio feed. No one moved. No one blinked.

Y/N stepped forward, folding her arms tightly as she studied the footage. Her brows furrowed as she focused on the timelines, the proximity of interactions, and the symptoms.

“…It’s not airborne,” she said quietly but firmly. All eyes turned to her.

She turned toward the group. “If it were, everyone in that hospital—every nurse, every janitor, every person in that building—would have turned already. But they didn’t. The ones who were bitten or exposed to infected blood were the ones who transformed.”

She pointed at one clip. “See that nurse? She worked with multiple infected, stayed in the same room, didn’t wear a mask—still normal. But once Mr. Han bit her... transformation within minutes.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity, admiring her ability to stay composed despite everything they'd seen. Her voice was steady—clinical—but he could see the tightness in her jaw. She was holding it together… barely.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “So it’s bites and blood. We’ve got to train every unit to keep distance. No physical holds. If they’re infected, don’t touch ‘em.”

The Chief nodded slowly, beads of sweat forming again on his temple. “Then we initiate biohazard protocol. Everyone on patrol wears protective gear from now on. Gloves. Masks. No bare skin exposure.”

Y/N added, “You’ll also need to set up testing checkpoints. If someone gets bitten—even grazed—they need to be isolated immediately. No exceptions.”

One young officer stood up, panicked. “But… they look normal at first, don’t they? How do we know who’s safe? How do we trust each other?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “That’s the hardest part. You don’t.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Outside, a dull rumble echoed in the distance. An explosion? A collapsing building? No one knew anymore. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t going away.

Jungkook's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He glanced over at Y/N, who was already looking at him.

They were in the middle of a war zone now.

And it was only just beginning.

“Sir, the military has arrived!” a young officer shouted, bursting into the briefing room.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood at once. The gravity of the moment hung thick in the air—if the military was here, the situation was worse than they thought.

Jungkook instinctively placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s back, guiding her along with the others as they moved toward the station’s entrance. Outside, the noise of engines and boots filled the streets. Military vehicles lined the roads—jeeps, armored trucks, and medical transports—forming a protective barrier around the police station.

Uniformed soldiers jumped down from the vehicles, barking orders and moving in tactical formations. Their presence was strong, authoritative, efficient… and grim.

Y/N stood between Jungkook and the Chief. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the older man. He looked… off.

His posture was stiff, and he wasn’t responding to the soldiers' arrival the way the others were. His breath was uneven, his skin pale, almost bluish. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple, but when Y/N gently reached for his wrist—what she felt made her blood run cold.

His skin was ice.

“Chief…?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. “Your pulse—it's faint—”

Suddenly, his entire body jolted. His arm shot out, knocking her backward.

“Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, immediately reaching out to catch her, but the Chief lunged at her again—this time, fully transformed. His eyes had gone bloodshot, mouth snarling, strength unnatural for a man his age.

Jungkook tackled the Chief to the side, grunting as he struggled to restrain the infected man. The Chief’s hands clawed at his vest like a mad animal, teeth gnashing only inches from Jungkook’s throat.

“Get back! Don’t let him bite!” Jungkook shouted to the officers, who all hesitated, unsure what to do.

And then—bang!

A single shot rang through the chaos.

The Chief’s body slumped over Jungkook’s, lifeless.

Y/N gasped, eyes wide as the figure holding the still-smoking rifle came into view.

Kim Taehyung.

Wearing full military gear, rifle still raised, breath steady despite the scene before him. His eyes scanned the area before landing on her. The sharpness in his expression softened instantly.

“Y/N!” he called out.

She stumbled to her feet, blood on her sleeves, breath shaky—but her eyes locked onto his, and in seconds he was sprinting toward her. He dropped his rifle, arms outstretched as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“God, you’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, still catching his breath, watching the reunion unfold before him.

His eyes lingered on the way Taehyung held her, the way she clung back.

There was a pang in his chest—deep, quiet, and buried beneath years of discipline.

Namjoon appeared beside him, his voice low. “You okay, Kook?”

Jungkook gave a short nod, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

Because even in the middle of a crumbling world, where the dead walked and the cities burned… she still belonged to someone else.

As the chaos began to settle, the Chief’s body was quickly covered, soldiers regrouped, and the area was secured. Orders echoed around them, but for a moment, Jungkook just stood still, chest rising and falling heavily, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Y/N gently pulled away from Taehyung, giving him a soft nod before turning toward Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” she said, moving quickly to his side. Her voice was sharp now—not formal, not clinical, but full of urgency. “Are you hurt? Did he… did he bite you?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied, but she didn’t take his word for it.

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his uniform, eyes scanning him thoroughly.

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his outer jacket. Jungkook blinked at her but obeyed, slipping the jacket off while Namjoon subtly stepped away to give them privacy.

Y/N’s eyes darted across his skin—his neck, his arms, the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed along his forearm, checking for scratches or bites.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I told you, I’m okay.”

“I need to be sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her brows were drawn tightly together, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She pushed up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of tattooed skin—black ink curling along his veins, stories and symbols written in lines and shapes. For a second, her fingers paused, tracing one of them unconsciously.

Jungkook watched her. Felt the heat of her touch. The brush of her fingertips against his skin—gentle, like she was trying not to break him.

“You’re really not hurt?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I promise.”

Finally, she let out a breath. Her shoulders sank a little, and she nodded, her fingers slowly pulling his sleeve back down.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip before finishing that thought. Instead, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doctor instinct. I just… needed to be sure.”

Jungkook gave a soft chuckle. “No, I get it. It’s okay.”

Their eyes met—just for a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he said, his voice a little lower.

Y/N managed a small smile. “Always.”

Behind them, Taehyung called her name. She turned her head, nodding toward him.

But before she walked away, her hand brushed against Jungkook’s one more time—a quiet touch. One she probably didn’t even realize she did.

But he did.

And he felt it all the way to his heart.

The command center buzzed with coordinated movement—soldiers barking orders, officers gathering gear, med kits being loaded into vehicles. The urgency thickened in the air like smoke, everyone working like clockwork in the middle of chaos.

“We need to have a basecamp,” Taehyung said firmly, standing at the center of it all, his military uniform crisp and imposing. “A place where we can stay safe and rescue survivors. Quarantine zones, medical areas, fortified rooms for the uninfected.”

“The best place for that is outside of the city,” Jungkook chimed in, his voice serious, brows furrowed. “Wide terrain. Easier to fortify, fewer structures that can block our view. We’ll see them coming before they get close.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then that’s the plan. Initiate clearing operations outside the city. I want a double barricade. Spread word to survivors.”

“How will we know they’re not infected?” Namjoon asked.

A moment of silence followed. Everyone exchanged looks, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

“The temperature,” Y/N said, stepping forward, arms full of medical kits and supplies. “Eye color. Dilated pupils, abnormal muscle tension. We check for bite wounds. Anyone suspicious—we isolate.”

There was no room for doubt in her tone. She tossed a bag into the back of Jungkook’s police SUV and went back for another. Focused. Efficient. A doctor in full fight mode.

Jungkook silently helped her load the last of the kits into his car, the weight in his chest heavier than the gear on his back.

“All units, move out!” a soldier called.

Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting his radio, eyes focused forward. Just drive. Just do your job.

Behind him, Taehyung reached for Y/N’s hand.

“Yeobo, come,” he said softly.

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Her eyes flicked toward Jungkook’s car. He was already seated, knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched.

But she turned and followed her husband.

Jungkook didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Just started the engine like nothing happened.

But Namjoon, sliding into the passenger seat, saw it all. He closed the door with a sigh and glanced over.

“She’s his wife, Kook.”

“I know.”

Namjoon stayed quiet for a few seconds, then tried again. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “Don’t start, hyung. I don’t feel anything.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? 'Cause the guy who’s been doing push-ups every morning just to catch a glimpse of her doesn’t sound like someone who feels nothing.”

“I’m focused. That’s it.”

“Right,” Namjoon said dryly. “Focused on pretending you’re not in love with someone else’s wife while you risk your life every day.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Namjoon added after a pause.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not lying. I’m surviving.”

Namjoon turned to the window and leaned his head back. “Fine. Survive. But don’t lose yourself doing it.”

The drive out of the city was long and brutal—fires, overturned cars, empty streets littered with signs of what used to be life.

But inside Jungkook’s car, the silence between two brothers-in-arms said more than words ever could.

[7ndipity]

Jimin: I just want to tell Y/n how I feel

Hobi: then do it

Jimin: Y/N!

Y/n: what do you want?

Jimin: HOBI WANTS TO TELL YOU SOMETHING

[bluelavendre]

Apocalypse

JJK x Reader ft. Namjoon &???

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

Police officer jjk x Doctor Reader ft.???

1/??

The low hum of an approaching engine disrupted the quiet morning air. A black patrol car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a corner café tucked into a sleepy town street—quaint, quiet, and still unaware of the chaos that would one day come.

The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man who turned more than a few heads on a daily basis. Officer Jeon Jungkook. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his uniform shirt, the tattoos winding down his arms just barely hidden beneath the fabric. His dark hair was brushed back, still damp from a morning shower, and a pair of sunglasses dangled carelessly between his fingers. He slid them on as he walked toward the café, the heavy soles of his boots thudding rhythmically on the pavement.

The bell above the café door gave a cheerful chime as he stepped inside, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and warm pastries. It smelled like comfort, like routine—like everything that made life feel normal.

“Good morning, Officer Jeon! The usual?” called Minho, the young barista behind the counter, already grinning as he pulled two cups from the stack.

“Make it two today, Minho,” Jungkook said with a small smile, voice low and smooth.

Minho raised a brow knowingly. “Feeding the beast in the passenger seat?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chuckled, pulling a few bills from his wallet.

Within minutes, two steaming cups of coffee and a paper bag filled with breakfast burritos were packed up and ready. Jungkook gave Minho a small nod of thanks before stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

He slid into the driver’s seat and handed over the goods. His partner, Officer Kim Namjoon, immediately perked up.

“Finally,” Namjoon said, lifting the lid off his coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Jeon Jungkook is buying breakfast. This is a historic day.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Jungkook muttered, biting into his burrito.

Their patrol car sat idling quietly at the curb as they ate, eyes casually scanning the street as morning life began to bloom—pedestrians with briefcases, joggers, a dog walker or two.

Then the café door opened again, and something—or rather, someone—shifted in Jungkook’s peripheral vision.

A woman stepped out, her coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. She was on the phone, her voice soft but purposeful. A doctor, judging by the embroidered name tag barely visible on her coat pocket. Hair pulled into a clean ponytail, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her every move was graceful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Namjoon, ever the observer, turned his head and caught the expression on his partner’s face. A teasing grin curled on his lips.

“Officer Jeon,” he said in a mockingly serious tone. “You forgot your sunglasses.”

Jungkook blinked. “Aish, Kim. What are you on about now?”

“I can literally see the puppy eyes,” Namjoon smirked, wiggling his brows like a high schooler watching his friend fall in love.

“She’s my neighbor, hyung,” Jungkook said defensively, but his voice lacked bite.

“Ohh,” Namjoon said with a slow nod. “I get it now. Jeon Jungkook—town hero, proud defender of the people, protector of the innocent—just casually keeping an eye out for the neighborhood doctor. How noble.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and started the engine, trying to hide the way his ears were burning.

“She’s married,” he added after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nearly choked on his burrito. “She’s what?!”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

The tires crunched over gravel as their patrol car pulled into the lot behind the station. The morning sun glinted off the rows of parked cruisers, the building standing tall in its quiet authority. Jungkook killed the engine, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out with a sigh, his boots hitting the ground with that familiar solid thud.

Namjoon scrambled out after him, still gripping his half-finished coffee.

“Wait—wait, are you for real?” he called, jogging to catch up. “She’s married? Married? To who? When?!”

Jungkook didn’t break stride as he pushed through the glass doors of the station.

“To who?” Namjoon repeated behind him. “She? That doctor? Your neighbor? What??”

Inside, the familiar scent of fresh paperwork and old floor polish filled the air. Officers passed them, nodding greetings, typing reports, making calls. Jungkook just walked faster, trying to lose his partner in the maze of desks and hallways.

“Move on, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, finally stopping by his locker. He opened it with a clang, swapping out his jacket, his expression unreadable.

Namjoon leaned on the wall beside him, still staring like he’d just been told Santa Claus was real and cheating on Mrs. Claus.

“I mean… I just didn’t expect that. She doesn’t wear a ring,” he said more quietly this time, voice finally softening.

“She used to,” Jungkook replied, not looking up.

Namjoon frowned. “Divorced?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “Military. He’s deployed. Hasn’t been home in years. But she still waits for him.”

That shut Namjoon up for a moment.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly as he pulled out his body cam, checking the battery like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “So yeah… move on, hyung.”

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched his partner in silence, something unspoken passing between them. He saw it now—the way Jungkook watched her, not just with attraction, but with quiet longing. A kind of ache no training could fix.

And maybe... the kind of ache that would only get worse.

Night had fallen, and the once-bustling streets were now quiet, bathed in the glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Jeon Jungkook sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, parked just outside his modest home. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, the radio silent for the first time all day.

He looked over.

Her car was already there—parked in its usual spot just next to his. And there she was.

Out in her front yard, crouched down with a small dish in her hands, she fed the same group of stray cats that always seemed to show up around dusk. She was barefoot, dressed in her familiar nighttime attire: a loose white top and a pair of worn-out Stitch pajama pants that looked two sizes too big—probably her husband's. There was a quiet comfort in how soft and normal it all felt.

Jungkook took a slow breath, adjusting his cap before stepping out of the car.

As if sensing him, she looked up with a small smile. “Good evening, Officer Jeon.”

Her voice was light, teasing, and yet… there was something warm in the way she said his name. Like he belonged in this tiny sliver of her world.

Jungkook felt something flutter in his chest. Damn that voice.

He tipped his cap, the one with the embroidered police emblem on the front. “Good evening, Doctor.”

She raised a brow, her smile growing. “The formalities again, Officer?”

He chuckled as he walked toward her yard. “You called me Officer first… and that’s the second time you’ve called me Doctor Y/L/N.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving him off playfully. “Good evening, Jungkook-shii.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Feeding time, huh?”

“Yep,” she said simply, scratching one of the cats behind its ears. “They’re starting to expect me now. I’m probably in trouble if I ever forget.”

Jungkook leaned against the low fence, watching the cats briefly before glancing back at her. “How was your day?”

She sighed, the weariness finally catching up to her as she sat back on her heels. “Rough. We had… a boy come into the ER today. Maybe ten years old. Violent. Ferocious. It took four of us to hold him down. We thought it was rabies, but…” Her voice trailed off. “We’re still running tests.”

The easy atmosphere shifted slightly. Jungkook’s posture straightened, the officer in him taking over. “That doesn’t sound like just rabies,” he said, voice low. “You should be careful, Doc. Some things hide behind friendly faces.”

He nodded toward the cat closest to her feet. It looked up innocently with round eyes and a twitching tail.

She glanced at the cat, then back at him with a small, amused smile. “Note taken, sir.”

They stood there for a beat, the wind brushing lightly through the trees, the rustling leaves whispering like secrets in the dark.

“I should probably go inside,” she said softly, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Goodnight again, Jungkook-shii.”

Jungkook gave her a small nod, watching as she stepped back into her yard, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she opened her door. She turned back once more, smiled, and disappeared inside.

Only then did Jungkook finally head toward his own front door, unlocking it slowly, his eyes flicking one last time to her porch.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once.

Then again.

Louder.

And then it suddenly stopped.

The soft blue of early morning clung to the neighborhood like a blanket, cool and quiet. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, and the sky had only started its slow stretch toward dawn.

Jeon Jungkook was already outside.

His front porch creaked slightly under the rhythm of his push-ups—steady, controlled, but if you watched closely, you’d see his tempo waver every now and then. Not from fatigue.

From glancing toward the house next door.

The cool air kissed his skin, dew clinging to the wooden planks beneath him. His black tank top clung to his sculpted frame, soaked slightly with early sweat. The ink along his arms was on full display in the soft dawn light—script tattoos weaving around his right forearm, elegant cursive mingling with delicate symbols, a tiger lily peeking near the inside of his elbow. A bold eye on his forearm seemed to watch the world with him.

The one that always drew the most attention was the sleeve on his right hand—"Truth" and "Rather be dead than cool" etched between sharp black lines and sacred geometry, crawling up his wrist and knuckles like shadows from a dream. There was a faint glint of the “ARMY” tattoo just below his thumb—a tribute to loyalty and memory—and near the inside of his bicep, a barely noticeable date in Roman numerals. Something personal. Something he never talked about.

He told himself this was just part of his routine. Push-ups. Mind clear. Stay strong. Protect people.

But this morning, like every morning lately, it was more than that.

He was waiting.

And right on time, the porch light flicked on next door.

She stepped outside, barefoot and blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose as she carried a steaming mug to the porch railing. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and those familiar Stitch pajama pants—clearly from another life—she looked as soft and out of place in this gritty world as spring snow.

Jungkook paused, holding a push-up mid-motion. His gaze softened.

She looked around at the sound of paws and claws on wood—stray cats gathering near her like a daily ritual. She poured kibble into their little bowl and murmured something gentle he couldn’t hear from this distance.

Then, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

“Do you ever sleep, Jungkook-shii?” she called across the stillness, her voice cracking a little from sleep.

He stood, grabbing the towel from the porch railing and casually wiping his arms—inking catching the light. “Morning cardio. Gotta stay in shape in case someone needs rescuing.”

She lifted her cup in mock salute. “Ah, the neighborhood hero returns.”

“Always on duty, Doctor,” he replied, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

But he noticed it—the brief flicker behind her eyes. The slight downturn of her mouth before she masked it with a sip of coffee.

“Everything alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just… weird dreams. And the hospital called earlier. The boy from yesterday—he’s missing.”

Jungkook’s easy demeanor vanished.

“Missing?” he repeated, brows knitting.

“They had him restrained. Last night’s security footage got corrupted somehow, and when the nurses did rounds this morning, he was just… gone.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. His hand unconsciously drifted to the tattoo over his chest, hidden under fabric—a symbol of resilience he got the day after his first failed case. A quiet reminder to never let things slip through the cracks.

“Could be something,” he said carefully. “I’ll check in with dispatch. See if anything’s been flagged overnight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

He didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t sure it was nothing.

A strange silence lingered between them, until she spoke again.

“Well… I should get ready for work. See you later, Jungkook-shii,” she said, offering a tired smile.

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer.

“Be safe, Doctor.”

She turned, disappearing inside.

And Jungkook stood there for a while longer, the cool air biting at his inked skin, unease creeping under his ribs.

Somewhere, deep in the city, another siren wailed.

Jungkook pulled into the precinct parking lot just as the city stirred to life. The rising sun painted the sky in smudges of coral and gray, but the air felt heavier than usual—like the day knew something no one else did yet.

He stepped out of the cruiser, fingers instinctively adjusting the bulletproof vest under his jacket. The precinct doors buzzed open, and he was immediately met with Namjoon pacing near the monitor wall, brows drawn tight.

“Jungkook,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got another one. This one’s bad.”

Namjoon tapped the screen, and a grainy video clip began to play. It looked like security cam footage from a small gas station somewhere in the west outskirts of Seoul. A young man—barefoot, bloodied, twitching—stumbled into frame. The clerk behind the counter started shouting. But the boy didn’t flinch. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Feral.

Then he lunged.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched the chaos erupt on-screen. Screams. Shaking camera. The boy biting—tearing—into someone’s arm before the feed cut.

Namjoon exhaled shakily. “Same symptoms. Unresponsive to speech. Aggressive. Animalistic.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the precinct door banged open.

“ATTENTION!”

Every officer in the room snapped up from their stations. The chief walked in, tall and sharp in his pressed uniform, a file in one hand and urgency in his steps.

“At ease,” the chief barked, dropping the folder onto the front desk. “Listen up. Things are escalating.”

He looked at each officer, locking eyes.

“The hospital has started reporting a growing number of bite-related injuries. Mostly erratic behavior. Some… fatal. The government’s flagged this as a potential outbreak scenario. Low-level for now, but spreading.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Jungkook didn’t move. His mind immediately flashed to her. The way she looked this morning. The concern in her voice when she said “we barely restrained him.”

The chief continued. “As of this morning, all precincts have been ordered to begin collaboration with local hospitals. Ours has been assigned to Seoul Medical East—where the first recorded case was brought in.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

That was her hospital.

“You’ll work closely with doctors for intel, security, and containment if necessary,” the chief said. “This is no longer just a public disturbance issue—it’s a medical emergency. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped back as the officers got to work, some grouping around computer terminals, others checking radios and prepping riot gear. Namjoon nudged Jungkook, concern etched across his face.

“Your doctor friend,” he said quietly, “that’s her hospital, right?”

Jungkook nodded, grabbing his gear.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The convoy of police cruisers roared down the main avenue, their sirens piercing the thick tension in the air. Flashing red and blue lights danced across the hospital's white facade, casting eerie glows on panicked faces and shattered windows.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked, heart pounding like a war drum.

As soon as they arrived, the scene exploded before them—nurses screaming, patients writhing on stretchers, and doctors desperately trying to sedate bodies that thrashed like wild animals.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon whispered beside him, stepping out of the car. “It’s worse than the footage.”

The emergency entrance was a warzone. One nurse flew backward, her shoulder slammed by a middle-aged man foaming at the mouth. Another patient bit down hard on a stretcher’s metal rail, teeth cracking.

“READY, MEN!” the chief barked, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His hand shot into the air, commanding immediate formation.

“All teams—gear up! Secure perimeter, and assist medical staff where necessary. We are not here to kill—we are here to contain!” the chief ordered.

He turned sharply toward Jungkook, eyes hard. “Officer Jeon—I’m putting you in charge of interior containment with your squad.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook responded, saluting sharply.

He spun to his men, voice loud and unwavering despite the panic around them.

“Alpha team—assist the nurses in the ER, use riot shields if needed! Beta team, lock down the west hallway and keep ferals from crossing over to ICU! No guns unless absolutely necessary—we do not shoot civilians!”

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded, immediately breaking into teams.

Jungkook's boots thundered against the tile as he rushed inside, weaving through overturned chairs and knocked-over IV stands. The hospital interior looked like a scene from a horror movie—blood smeared on walls, flickering lights, oxygen tanks rolling loose across the floor.

He scanned faces—nurses, doctors, infected—desperately searching for one in particular.

Where was she?

Then—

Through a half-open door in the east wing, he heard a familiar voice.

“No—please stay still—you're hurting yourself! Mr. Han, stop—STOP!”

Jungkook burst into the room.

There she was—struggling to restrain an elderly patient whose face had turned a sickly gray, pupils dilated, veins dark and raised under translucent skin. He snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog, knocking over a tray of medical tools.

Without thinking, Jungkook lunged forward.

He grabbed the old man from behind, using his strength to pin him against the wall.

“Doc, MOVE!” he shouted.

She stumbled back, panting, eyes wide with panic and relief.

“Jungkook-shii—he bit two nurses,” she gasped. “I couldn’t sedate him—he broke the restraints.”

Jungkook wrestled the man to the ground, twisting his wrists into an emergency zip tie restraint. “Namjoon!” he shouted into his radio, “Get two officers to Room 203! I need backup and a gurney!”

Static crackled before Namjoon responded. “On it!”

She was still breathing hard, her hands trembling. Jungkook looked up at her, eyes full of worry.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I—he almost got me, but I’m okay.”

Jungkook stood, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll keep you close.”

Outside the room, more screams echoed.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Something terrible was unfolding here.

BANG!

The thunderous sound of a gunshot echoed through the hospital hallway, sharp and deafening. Jungkook instinctively pulled her down behind a tipped-over gurney, shielding her body with his own as the high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

“NO SHOOTING!” Jungkook roared into his radio. “We’re surrounded by civilians—HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

But his voice barely cut through the chaos.

Inside the room, Mr. Han’s head snapped violently toward the nurse beside him—eyes wide, veins throbbing beneath his skin—and without warning, he lunged. His teeth sank into her neck before anyone could stop it.

“NO!” the nurse screamed—just once—before her voice turned into gurgled, wet gasps. Blood sprayed across the floor, slick and red.

Jungkook shoved her behind him. “Stay down!” he barked.

The nurse staggered backward, clawing at the wall—but her eyes were already changing. Dilated. Glazed. Her body twitched unnaturally, jerking in spasms that looked less like pain and more like possession.

She locked eyes with Jungkook.

And then—she lunged, growling.

“Kook, MOVE!”

The door slammed open and Namjoon charged in with two officers. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired.

BANG. BANG.

The nurse’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath her. Mr. Han was next, restrained but still snarling like a beast, veins pulsing like snakes under his skin.

“We had no choice, Kook,” Namjoon said breathlessly, lowering his weapon. “They’re not human anymore. They’re too strong.”

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up—one moment it was a hospital, the next, a battlefield.

She slowly stood beside him, blood splattered on her cheek, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“This isn’t rabies…” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s something worse.”

Jungkook turned to Namjoon. “Get the survivors out. Lock every damn hallway. We need quarantine zones—now.”

“On it,” Namjoon said, signaling his officers.

Jungkook turned back to her, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re coming with me.”

She hesitated. “I—I can’t leave my patients—”

“There are no more patients,” Jungkook said, eyes haunted. “There are only survivors.”

Their eyes met. And in that moment, they both knew:

Something had begun.

“We only have a few survivors, sir!” an officer reported, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes wide with panic.

Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon sprinted toward the remaining cluster of police officers huddled near the ER exit. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—closer now—and the once-bustling hospital was now a battlefield of overturned stretchers, broken glass, and moaning bodies.

“We need to move,” the Chief barked. His face was pale, his uniform stained with blood. His hand gripped his side tightly, but he kept his composure. “Fall back to the station—we need an emergency meeting. The military has been contacted. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour.”

Y/N stepped forward, catching the subtle shake in the Chief’s hand, the way he was trying not to limp. Her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing, keeping the observation to herself for now.

“Sir,” she said urgently, “some infected patients ran out into the streets. If we don’t act now, this won’t stay contained. We’ll need to evacuate the city. The virus—whatever this is—it spreads too fast.”

The Chief glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. He hesitated just for a moment—barely long enough to notice.

“We’ll discuss it at the station,” he said. “Doctor, we’ll need you there. The government wants input from the frontline—we can’t stand out here any longer. It’s not safe.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook said, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward his cruiser. The tension in his jaw was tighter than ever.

She slid into the front passenger seat, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the seatbelt. Jungkook slid into the driver’s side, immediately starting the engine. Namjoon took the back seat, loading his rifle beside him with grim silence.

As they pulled out, the scene around them grew worse with every block. Seoul had begun to fall.

Fires had broken out in the distance. Cars were abandoned in the middle of intersections. People ran down sidewalks screaming, dragging children behind them. Some banged on shop doors, begging to be let in. Others… weren’t human anymore.

A man slammed into their windshield briefly, growling—his face covered in blood—before he was thrown off as Jungkook swerved.

“This is hell already,” Namjoon muttered from the back seat, gripping his weapon tightly. “How the fuck did it spread this fast?”

Y/N stared out the window, watching as a woman knelt in the street, clutching the limp body of a child. “It’s air-borne, or blood-borne—or both,” she whispered. “The incubation time is almost nonexistent.”

Jungkook’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the road, jaw locked, scanning every corner for threats. He was no longer just an officer. He was a protector now. Not just of the city—but of her.

“I’m getting you both to safety,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sirens faded as they neared the station.

But even there—chaos was waiting.

The police station, once a place of routine, reports, and quiet paperwork, had transformed into a nerve center buzzing with dread. Officers ran in and out, phones rang constantly, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with the weight of a city crumbling outside.

Inside the briefing room, the air was tense. Everyone was on edge—some still in their bloodied uniforms, others clearly fresh from patrols. Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon entered, the sound of their boots echoing off the tile floor. Y/N immediately felt the shift in atmosphere—this wasn’t just a city crisis anymore. This was a national emergency.

The Chief stood at the front, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave her a quick glance—one that lingered just a little too long—but said nothing. Behind him, a projection screen blinked to life.

Security footage rolled.

One clip after another.

Doctors being dragged down hallways.

Nurses screaming as feral patients lunged at them.

A young boy in restraints suddenly snapping two guards' arms with unnatural strength.

A woman coughing up blood in an alleyway before attacking her own brother.

The room fell into silence except for the faint static of the audio feed. No one moved. No one blinked.

Y/N stepped forward, folding her arms tightly as she studied the footage. Her brows furrowed as she focused on the timelines, the proximity of interactions, and the symptoms.

“…It’s not airborne,” she said quietly but firmly. All eyes turned to her.

She turned toward the group. “If it were, everyone in that hospital—every nurse, every janitor, every person in that building—would have turned already. But they didn’t. The ones who were bitten or exposed to infected blood were the ones who transformed.”

She pointed at one clip. “See that nurse? She worked with multiple infected, stayed in the same room, didn’t wear a mask—still normal. But once Mr. Han bit her... transformation within minutes.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity, admiring her ability to stay composed despite everything they'd seen. Her voice was steady—clinical—but he could see the tightness in her jaw. She was holding it together… barely.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “So it’s bites and blood. We’ve got to train every unit to keep distance. No physical holds. If they’re infected, don’t touch ‘em.”

The Chief nodded slowly, beads of sweat forming again on his temple. “Then we initiate biohazard protocol. Everyone on patrol wears protective gear from now on. Gloves. Masks. No bare skin exposure.”

Y/N added, “You’ll also need to set up testing checkpoints. If someone gets bitten—even grazed—they need to be isolated immediately. No exceptions.”

One young officer stood up, panicked. “But… they look normal at first, don’t they? How do we know who’s safe? How do we trust each other?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “That’s the hardest part. You don’t.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Outside, a dull rumble echoed in the distance. An explosion? A collapsing building? No one knew anymore. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t going away.

Jungkook's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He glanced over at Y/N, who was already looking at him.

They were in the middle of a war zone now.

And it was only just beginning.

“Sir, the military has arrived!” a young officer shouted, bursting into the briefing room.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood at once. The gravity of the moment hung thick in the air—if the military was here, the situation was worse than they thought.

Jungkook instinctively placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s back, guiding her along with the others as they moved toward the station’s entrance. Outside, the noise of engines and boots filled the streets. Military vehicles lined the roads—jeeps, armored trucks, and medical transports—forming a protective barrier around the police station.

Uniformed soldiers jumped down from the vehicles, barking orders and moving in tactical formations. Their presence was strong, authoritative, efficient… and grim.

Y/N stood between Jungkook and the Chief. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the older man. He looked… off.

His posture was stiff, and he wasn’t responding to the soldiers' arrival the way the others were. His breath was uneven, his skin pale, almost bluish. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple, but when Y/N gently reached for his wrist—what she felt made her blood run cold.

His skin was ice.

“Chief…?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. “Your pulse—it's faint—”

Suddenly, his entire body jolted. His arm shot out, knocking her backward.

“Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, immediately reaching out to catch her, but the Chief lunged at her again—this time, fully transformed. His eyes had gone bloodshot, mouth snarling, strength unnatural for a man his age.

Jungkook tackled the Chief to the side, grunting as he struggled to restrain the infected man. The Chief’s hands clawed at his vest like a mad animal, teeth gnashing only inches from Jungkook’s throat.

“Get back! Don’t let him bite!” Jungkook shouted to the officers, who all hesitated, unsure what to do.

And then—bang!

A single shot rang through the chaos.

The Chief’s body slumped over Jungkook’s, lifeless.

Y/N gasped, eyes wide as the figure holding the still-smoking rifle came into view.

Kim Taehyung.

Wearing full military gear, rifle still raised, breath steady despite the scene before him. His eyes scanned the area before landing on her. The sharpness in his expression softened instantly.

“Y/N!” he called out.

She stumbled to her feet, blood on her sleeves, breath shaky—but her eyes locked onto his, and in seconds he was sprinting toward her. He dropped his rifle, arms outstretched as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“God, you’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, still catching his breath, watching the reunion unfold before him.

His eyes lingered on the way Taehyung held her, the way she clung back.

There was a pang in his chest—deep, quiet, and buried beneath years of discipline.

Namjoon appeared beside him, his voice low. “You okay, Kook?”

Jungkook gave a short nod, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

Because even in the middle of a crumbling world, where the dead walked and the cities burned… she still belonged to someone else.

As the chaos began to settle, the Chief’s body was quickly covered, soldiers regrouped, and the area was secured. Orders echoed around them, but for a moment, Jungkook just stood still, chest rising and falling heavily, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Y/N gently pulled away from Taehyung, giving him a soft nod before turning toward Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” she said, moving quickly to his side. Her voice was sharp now—not formal, not clinical, but full of urgency. “Are you hurt? Did he… did he bite you?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied, but she didn’t take his word for it.

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his uniform, eyes scanning him thoroughly.

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his outer jacket. Jungkook blinked at her but obeyed, slipping the jacket off while Namjoon subtly stepped away to give them privacy.

Y/N’s eyes darted across his skin—his neck, his arms, the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed along his forearm, checking for scratches or bites.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I told you, I’m okay.”

“I need to be sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her brows were drawn tightly together, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She pushed up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of tattooed skin—black ink curling along his veins, stories and symbols written in lines and shapes. For a second, her fingers paused, tracing one of them unconsciously.

Jungkook watched her. Felt the heat of her touch. The brush of her fingertips against his skin—gentle, like she was trying not to break him.

“You’re really not hurt?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I promise.”

Finally, she let out a breath. Her shoulders sank a little, and she nodded, her fingers slowly pulling his sleeve back down.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip before finishing that thought. Instead, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doctor instinct. I just… needed to be sure.”

Jungkook gave a soft chuckle. “No, I get it. It’s okay.”

Their eyes met—just for a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he said, his voice a little lower.

Y/N managed a small smile. “Always.”

Behind them, Taehyung called her name. She turned her head, nodding toward him.

But before she walked away, her hand brushed against Jungkook’s one more time—a quiet touch. One she probably didn’t even realize she did.

But he did.

And he felt it all the way to his heart.

The command center buzzed with coordinated movement—soldiers barking orders, officers gathering gear, med kits being loaded into vehicles. The urgency thickened in the air like smoke, everyone working like clockwork in the middle of chaos.

“We need to have a basecamp,” Taehyung said firmly, standing at the center of it all, his military uniform crisp and imposing. “A place where we can stay safe and rescue survivors. Quarantine zones, medical areas, fortified rooms for the uninfected.”

“The best place for that is outside of the city,” Jungkook chimed in, his voice serious, brows furrowed. “Wide terrain. Easier to fortify, fewer structures that can block our view. We’ll see them coming before they get close.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then that’s the plan. Initiate clearing operations outside the city. I want a double barricade. Spread word to survivors.”

“How will we know they’re not infected?” Namjoon asked.

A moment of silence followed. Everyone exchanged looks, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

“The temperature,” Y/N said, stepping forward, arms full of medical kits and supplies. “Eye color. Dilated pupils, abnormal muscle tension. We check for bite wounds. Anyone suspicious—we isolate.”

There was no room for doubt in her tone. She tossed a bag into the back of Jungkook’s police SUV and went back for another. Focused. Efficient. A doctor in full fight mode.

Jungkook silently helped her load the last of the kits into his car, the weight in his chest heavier than the gear on his back.

“All units, move out!” a soldier called.

Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting his radio, eyes focused forward. Just drive. Just do your job.

Behind him, Taehyung reached for Y/N’s hand.

“Yeobo, come,” he said softly.

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Her eyes flicked toward Jungkook’s car. He was already seated, knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched.

But she turned and followed her husband.

Jungkook didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Just started the engine like nothing happened.

But Namjoon, sliding into the passenger seat, saw it all. He closed the door with a sigh and glanced over.

“She’s his wife, Kook.”

“I know.”

Namjoon stayed quiet for a few seconds, then tried again. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “Don’t start, hyung. I don’t feel anything.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? 'Cause the guy who’s been doing push-ups every morning just to catch a glimpse of her doesn’t sound like someone who feels nothing.”

“I’m focused. That’s it.”

“Right,” Namjoon said dryly. “Focused on pretending you’re not in love with someone else’s wife while you risk your life every day.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Namjoon added after a pause.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not lying. I’m surviving.”

Namjoon turned to the window and leaned his head back. “Fine. Survive. But don’t lose yourself doing it.”

The drive out of the city was long and brutal—fires, overturned cars, empty streets littered with signs of what used to be life.

But inside Jungkook’s car, the silence between two brothers-in-arms said more than words ever could.

[bluelavendre]

Apocalypse

JJK x Reader ft. Namjoon &???

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

Police officer jjk x Doctor Reader ft.???

1/??

The low hum of an approaching engine disrupted the quiet morning air. A black patrol car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a corner café tucked into a sleepy town street—quaint, quiet, and still unaware of the chaos that would one day come.

The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man who turned more than a few heads on a daily basis. Officer Jeon Jungkook. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his uniform shirt, the tattoos winding down his arms just barely hidden beneath the fabric. His dark hair was brushed back, still damp from a morning shower, and a pair of sunglasses dangled carelessly between his fingers. He slid them on as he walked toward the café, the heavy soles of his boots thudding rhythmically on the pavement.

The bell above the café door gave a cheerful chime as he stepped inside, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and warm pastries. It smelled like comfort, like routine—like everything that made life feel normal.

“Good morning, Officer Jeon! The usual?” called Minho, the young barista behind the counter, already grinning as he pulled two cups from the stack.

“Make it two today, Minho,” Jungkook said with a small smile, voice low and smooth.

Minho raised a brow knowingly. “Feeding the beast in the passenger seat?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chuckled, pulling a few bills from his wallet.

Within minutes, two steaming cups of coffee and a paper bag filled with breakfast burritos were packed up and ready. Jungkook gave Minho a small nod of thanks before stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

He slid into the driver’s seat and handed over the goods. His partner, Officer Kim Namjoon, immediately perked up.

“Finally,” Namjoon said, lifting the lid off his coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Jeon Jungkook is buying breakfast. This is a historic day.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Jungkook muttered, biting into his burrito.

Their patrol car sat idling quietly at the curb as they ate, eyes casually scanning the street as morning life began to bloom—pedestrians with briefcases, joggers, a dog walker or two.

Then the café door opened again, and something—or rather, someone—shifted in Jungkook’s peripheral vision.

A woman stepped out, her coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. She was on the phone, her voice soft but purposeful. A doctor, judging by the embroidered name tag barely visible on her coat pocket. Hair pulled into a clean ponytail, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her every move was graceful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Namjoon, ever the observer, turned his head and caught the expression on his partner’s face. A teasing grin curled on his lips.

“Officer Jeon,” he said in a mockingly serious tone. “You forgot your sunglasses.”

Jungkook blinked. “Aish, Kim. What are you on about now?”

“I can literally see the puppy eyes,” Namjoon smirked, wiggling his brows like a high schooler watching his friend fall in love.

“She’s my neighbor, hyung,” Jungkook said defensively, but his voice lacked bite.

“Ohh,” Namjoon said with a slow nod. “I get it now. Jeon Jungkook—town hero, proud defender of the people, protector of the innocent—just casually keeping an eye out for the neighborhood doctor. How noble.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and started the engine, trying to hide the way his ears were burning.

“She’s married,” he added after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nearly choked on his burrito. “She’s what?!”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

The tires crunched over gravel as their patrol car pulled into the lot behind the station. The morning sun glinted off the rows of parked cruisers, the building standing tall in its quiet authority. Jungkook killed the engine, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out with a sigh, his boots hitting the ground with that familiar solid thud.

Namjoon scrambled out after him, still gripping his half-finished coffee.

“Wait—wait, are you for real?” he called, jogging to catch up. “She’s married? Married? To who? When?!”

Jungkook didn’t break stride as he pushed through the glass doors of the station.

“To who?” Namjoon repeated behind him. “She? That doctor? Your neighbor? What??”

Inside, the familiar scent of fresh paperwork and old floor polish filled the air. Officers passed them, nodding greetings, typing reports, making calls. Jungkook just walked faster, trying to lose his partner in the maze of desks and hallways.

“Move on, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, finally stopping by his locker. He opened it with a clang, swapping out his jacket, his expression unreadable.

Namjoon leaned on the wall beside him, still staring like he’d just been told Santa Claus was real and cheating on Mrs. Claus.

“I mean… I just didn’t expect that. She doesn’t wear a ring,” he said more quietly this time, voice finally softening.

“She used to,” Jungkook replied, not looking up.

Namjoon frowned. “Divorced?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “Military. He’s deployed. Hasn’t been home in years. But she still waits for him.”

That shut Namjoon up for a moment.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly as he pulled out his body cam, checking the battery like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “So yeah… move on, hyung.”

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched his partner in silence, something unspoken passing between them. He saw it now—the way Jungkook watched her, not just with attraction, but with quiet longing. A kind of ache no training could fix.

And maybe... the kind of ache that would only get worse.

Night had fallen, and the once-bustling streets were now quiet, bathed in the glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Jeon Jungkook sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, parked just outside his modest home. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, the radio silent for the first time all day.

He looked over.

Her car was already there—parked in its usual spot just next to his. And there she was.

Out in her front yard, crouched down with a small dish in her hands, she fed the same group of stray cats that always seemed to show up around dusk. She was barefoot, dressed in her familiar nighttime attire: a loose white top and a pair of worn-out Stitch pajama pants that looked two sizes too big—probably her husband's. There was a quiet comfort in how soft and normal it all felt.

Jungkook took a slow breath, adjusting his cap before stepping out of the car.

As if sensing him, she looked up with a small smile. “Good evening, Officer Jeon.”

Her voice was light, teasing, and yet… there was something warm in the way she said his name. Like he belonged in this tiny sliver of her world.

Jungkook felt something flutter in his chest. Damn that voice.

He tipped his cap, the one with the embroidered police emblem on the front. “Good evening, Doctor.”

She raised a brow, her smile growing. “The formalities again, Officer?”

He chuckled as he walked toward her yard. “You called me Officer first… and that’s the second time you’ve called me Doctor Y/L/N.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving him off playfully. “Good evening, Jungkook-shii.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Feeding time, huh?”

“Yep,” she said simply, scratching one of the cats behind its ears. “They’re starting to expect me now. I’m probably in trouble if I ever forget.”

Jungkook leaned against the low fence, watching the cats briefly before glancing back at her. “How was your day?”

She sighed, the weariness finally catching up to her as she sat back on her heels. “Rough. We had… a boy come into the ER today. Maybe ten years old. Violent. Ferocious. It took four of us to hold him down. We thought it was rabies, but…” Her voice trailed off. “We’re still running tests.”

The easy atmosphere shifted slightly. Jungkook’s posture straightened, the officer in him taking over. “That doesn’t sound like just rabies,” he said, voice low. “You should be careful, Doc. Some things hide behind friendly faces.”

He nodded toward the cat closest to her feet. It looked up innocently with round eyes and a twitching tail.

She glanced at the cat, then back at him with a small, amused smile. “Note taken, sir.”

They stood there for a beat, the wind brushing lightly through the trees, the rustling leaves whispering like secrets in the dark.

“I should probably go inside,” she said softly, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Goodnight again, Jungkook-shii.”

Jungkook gave her a small nod, watching as she stepped back into her yard, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she opened her door. She turned back once more, smiled, and disappeared inside.

Only then did Jungkook finally head toward his own front door, unlocking it slowly, his eyes flicking one last time to her porch.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once.

Then again.

Louder.

And then it suddenly stopped.

The soft blue of early morning clung to the neighborhood like a blanket, cool and quiet. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, and the sky had only started its slow stretch toward dawn.

Jeon Jungkook was already outside.

His front porch creaked slightly under the rhythm of his push-ups—steady, controlled, but if you watched closely, you’d see his tempo waver every now and then. Not from fatigue.

From glancing toward the house next door.

The cool air kissed his skin, dew clinging to the wooden planks beneath him. His black tank top clung to his sculpted frame, soaked slightly with early sweat. The ink along his arms was on full display in the soft dawn light—script tattoos weaving around his right forearm, elegant cursive mingling with delicate symbols, a tiger lily peeking near the inside of his elbow. A bold eye on his forearm seemed to watch the world with him.

The one that always drew the most attention was the sleeve on his right hand—"Truth" and "Rather be dead than cool" etched between sharp black lines and sacred geometry, crawling up his wrist and knuckles like shadows from a dream. There was a faint glint of the “ARMY” tattoo just below his thumb—a tribute to loyalty and memory—and near the inside of his bicep, a barely noticeable date in Roman numerals. Something personal. Something he never talked about.

He told himself this was just part of his routine. Push-ups. Mind clear. Stay strong. Protect people.

But this morning, like every morning lately, it was more than that.

He was waiting.

And right on time, the porch light flicked on next door.

She stepped outside, barefoot and blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose as she carried a steaming mug to the porch railing. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and those familiar Stitch pajama pants—clearly from another life—she looked as soft and out of place in this gritty world as spring snow.

Jungkook paused, holding a push-up mid-motion. His gaze softened.

She looked around at the sound of paws and claws on wood—stray cats gathering near her like a daily ritual. She poured kibble into their little bowl and murmured something gentle he couldn’t hear from this distance.

Then, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

“Do you ever sleep, Jungkook-shii?” she called across the stillness, her voice cracking a little from sleep.

He stood, grabbing the towel from the porch railing and casually wiping his arms—inking catching the light. “Morning cardio. Gotta stay in shape in case someone needs rescuing.”

She lifted her cup in mock salute. “Ah, the neighborhood hero returns.”

“Always on duty, Doctor,” he replied, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

But he noticed it—the brief flicker behind her eyes. The slight downturn of her mouth before she masked it with a sip of coffee.

“Everything alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just… weird dreams. And the hospital called earlier. The boy from yesterday—he’s missing.”

Jungkook’s easy demeanor vanished.

“Missing?” he repeated, brows knitting.

“They had him restrained. Last night’s security footage got corrupted somehow, and when the nurses did rounds this morning, he was just… gone.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. His hand unconsciously drifted to the tattoo over his chest, hidden under fabric—a symbol of resilience he got the day after his first failed case. A quiet reminder to never let things slip through the cracks.

“Could be something,” he said carefully. “I’ll check in with dispatch. See if anything’s been flagged overnight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

He didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t sure it was nothing.

A strange silence lingered between them, until she spoke again.

“Well… I should get ready for work. See you later, Jungkook-shii,” she said, offering a tired smile.

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer.

“Be safe, Doctor.”

She turned, disappearing inside.

And Jungkook stood there for a while longer, the cool air biting at his inked skin, unease creeping under his ribs.

Somewhere, deep in the city, another siren wailed.

Jungkook pulled into the precinct parking lot just as the city stirred to life. The rising sun painted the sky in smudges of coral and gray, but the air felt heavier than usual—like the day knew something no one else did yet.

He stepped out of the cruiser, fingers instinctively adjusting the bulletproof vest under his jacket. The precinct doors buzzed open, and he was immediately met with Namjoon pacing near the monitor wall, brows drawn tight.

“Jungkook,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got another one. This one’s bad.”

Namjoon tapped the screen, and a grainy video clip began to play. It looked like security cam footage from a small gas station somewhere in the west outskirts of Seoul. A young man—barefoot, bloodied, twitching—stumbled into frame. The clerk behind the counter started shouting. But the boy didn’t flinch. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Feral.

Then he lunged.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched the chaos erupt on-screen. Screams. Shaking camera. The boy biting—tearing—into someone’s arm before the feed cut.

Namjoon exhaled shakily. “Same symptoms. Unresponsive to speech. Aggressive. Animalistic.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the precinct door banged open.

“ATTENTION!”

Every officer in the room snapped up from their stations. The chief walked in, tall and sharp in his pressed uniform, a file in one hand and urgency in his steps.

“At ease,” the chief barked, dropping the folder onto the front desk. “Listen up. Things are escalating.”

He looked at each officer, locking eyes.

“The hospital has started reporting a growing number of bite-related injuries. Mostly erratic behavior. Some… fatal. The government’s flagged this as a potential outbreak scenario. Low-level for now, but spreading.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Jungkook didn’t move. His mind immediately flashed to her. The way she looked this morning. The concern in her voice when she said “we barely restrained him.”

The chief continued. “As of this morning, all precincts have been ordered to begin collaboration with local hospitals. Ours has been assigned to Seoul Medical East—where the first recorded case was brought in.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

That was her hospital.

“You’ll work closely with doctors for intel, security, and containment if necessary,” the chief said. “This is no longer just a public disturbance issue—it’s a medical emergency. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped back as the officers got to work, some grouping around computer terminals, others checking radios and prepping riot gear. Namjoon nudged Jungkook, concern etched across his face.

“Your doctor friend,” he said quietly, “that’s her hospital, right?”

Jungkook nodded, grabbing his gear.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The convoy of police cruisers roared down the main avenue, their sirens piercing the thick tension in the air. Flashing red and blue lights danced across the hospital's white facade, casting eerie glows on panicked faces and shattered windows.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked, heart pounding like a war drum.

As soon as they arrived, the scene exploded before them—nurses screaming, patients writhing on stretchers, and doctors desperately trying to sedate bodies that thrashed like wild animals.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon whispered beside him, stepping out of the car. “It’s worse than the footage.”

The emergency entrance was a warzone. One nurse flew backward, her shoulder slammed by a middle-aged man foaming at the mouth. Another patient bit down hard on a stretcher’s metal rail, teeth cracking.

“READY, MEN!” the chief barked, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His hand shot into the air, commanding immediate formation.

“All teams—gear up! Secure perimeter, and assist medical staff where necessary. We are not here to kill—we are here to contain!” the chief ordered.

He turned sharply toward Jungkook, eyes hard. “Officer Jeon—I’m putting you in charge of interior containment with your squad.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook responded, saluting sharply.

He spun to his men, voice loud and unwavering despite the panic around them.

“Alpha team—assist the nurses in the ER, use riot shields if needed! Beta team, lock down the west hallway and keep ferals from crossing over to ICU! No guns unless absolutely necessary—we do not shoot civilians!”

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded, immediately breaking into teams.

Jungkook's boots thundered against the tile as he rushed inside, weaving through overturned chairs and knocked-over IV stands. The hospital interior looked like a scene from a horror movie—blood smeared on walls, flickering lights, oxygen tanks rolling loose across the floor.

He scanned faces—nurses, doctors, infected—desperately searching for one in particular.

Where was she?

Then—

Through a half-open door in the east wing, he heard a familiar voice.

“No—please stay still—you're hurting yourself! Mr. Han, stop—STOP!”

Jungkook burst into the room.

There she was—struggling to restrain an elderly patient whose face had turned a sickly gray, pupils dilated, veins dark and raised under translucent skin. He snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog, knocking over a tray of medical tools.

Without thinking, Jungkook lunged forward.

He grabbed the old man from behind, using his strength to pin him against the wall.

“Doc, MOVE!” he shouted.

She stumbled back, panting, eyes wide with panic and relief.

“Jungkook-shii—he bit two nurses,” she gasped. “I couldn’t sedate him—he broke the restraints.”

Jungkook wrestled the man to the ground, twisting his wrists into an emergency zip tie restraint. “Namjoon!” he shouted into his radio, “Get two officers to Room 203! I need backup and a gurney!”

Static crackled before Namjoon responded. “On it!”

She was still breathing hard, her hands trembling. Jungkook looked up at her, eyes full of worry.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I—he almost got me, but I’m okay.”

Jungkook stood, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll keep you close.”

Outside the room, more screams echoed.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Something terrible was unfolding here.

BANG!

The thunderous sound of a gunshot echoed through the hospital hallway, sharp and deafening. Jungkook instinctively pulled her down behind a tipped-over gurney, shielding her body with his own as the high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

“NO SHOOTING!” Jungkook roared into his radio. “We’re surrounded by civilians—HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

But his voice barely cut through the chaos.

Inside the room, Mr. Han’s head snapped violently toward the nurse beside him—eyes wide, veins throbbing beneath his skin—and without warning, he lunged. His teeth sank into her neck before anyone could stop it.

“NO!” the nurse screamed—just once—before her voice turned into gurgled, wet gasps. Blood sprayed across the floor, slick and red.

Jungkook shoved her behind him. “Stay down!” he barked.

The nurse staggered backward, clawing at the wall—but her eyes were already changing. Dilated. Glazed. Her body twitched unnaturally, jerking in spasms that looked less like pain and more like possession.

She locked eyes with Jungkook.

And then—she lunged, growling.

“Kook, MOVE!”

The door slammed open and Namjoon charged in with two officers. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired.

BANG. BANG.

The nurse’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath her. Mr. Han was next, restrained but still snarling like a beast, veins pulsing like snakes under his skin.

“We had no choice, Kook,” Namjoon said breathlessly, lowering his weapon. “They’re not human anymore. They’re too strong.”

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up—one moment it was a hospital, the next, a battlefield.

She slowly stood beside him, blood splattered on her cheek, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“This isn’t rabies…” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s something worse.”

Jungkook turned to Namjoon. “Get the survivors out. Lock every damn hallway. We need quarantine zones—now.”

“On it,” Namjoon said, signaling his officers.

Jungkook turned back to her, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re coming with me.”

She hesitated. “I—I can’t leave my patients—”

“There are no more patients,” Jungkook said, eyes haunted. “There are only survivors.”

Their eyes met. And in that moment, they both knew:

Something had begun.

“We only have a few survivors, sir!” an officer reported, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes wide with panic.

Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon sprinted toward the remaining cluster of police officers huddled near the ER exit. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—closer now—and the once-bustling hospital was now a battlefield of overturned stretchers, broken glass, and moaning bodies.

“We need to move,” the Chief barked. His face was pale, his uniform stained with blood. His hand gripped his side tightly, but he kept his composure. “Fall back to the station—we need an emergency meeting. The military has been contacted. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour.”

Y/N stepped forward, catching the subtle shake in the Chief’s hand, the way he was trying not to limp. Her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing, keeping the observation to herself for now.

“Sir,” she said urgently, “some infected patients ran out into the streets. If we don’t act now, this won’t stay contained. We’ll need to evacuate the city. The virus—whatever this is—it spreads too fast.”

The Chief glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. He hesitated just for a moment—barely long enough to notice.

“We’ll discuss it at the station,” he said. “Doctor, we’ll need you there. The government wants input from the frontline—we can’t stand out here any longer. It’s not safe.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook said, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward his cruiser. The tension in his jaw was tighter than ever.

She slid into the front passenger seat, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the seatbelt. Jungkook slid into the driver’s side, immediately starting the engine. Namjoon took the back seat, loading his rifle beside him with grim silence.

As they pulled out, the scene around them grew worse with every block. Seoul had begun to fall.

Fires had broken out in the distance. Cars were abandoned in the middle of intersections. People ran down sidewalks screaming, dragging children behind them. Some banged on shop doors, begging to be let in. Others… weren’t human anymore.

A man slammed into their windshield briefly, growling—his face covered in blood—before he was thrown off as Jungkook swerved.

“This is hell already,” Namjoon muttered from the back seat, gripping his weapon tightly. “How the fuck did it spread this fast?”

Y/N stared out the window, watching as a woman knelt in the street, clutching the limp body of a child. “It’s air-borne, or blood-borne—or both,” she whispered. “The incubation time is almost nonexistent.”

Jungkook’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the road, jaw locked, scanning every corner for threats. He was no longer just an officer. He was a protector now. Not just of the city—but of her.

“I’m getting you both to safety,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sirens faded as they neared the station.

But even there—chaos was waiting.

The police station, once a place of routine, reports, and quiet paperwork, had transformed into a nerve center buzzing with dread. Officers ran in and out, phones rang constantly, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with the weight of a city crumbling outside.

Inside the briefing room, the air was tense. Everyone was on edge—some still in their bloodied uniforms, others clearly fresh from patrols. Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon entered, the sound of their boots echoing off the tile floor. Y/N immediately felt the shift in atmosphere—this wasn’t just a city crisis anymore. This was a national emergency.

The Chief stood at the front, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave her a quick glance—one that lingered just a little too long—but said nothing. Behind him, a projection screen blinked to life.

Security footage rolled.

One clip after another.

Doctors being dragged down hallways.

Nurses screaming as feral patients lunged at them.

A young boy in restraints suddenly snapping two guards' arms with unnatural strength.

A woman coughing up blood in an alleyway before attacking her own brother.

The room fell into silence except for the faint static of the audio feed. No one moved. No one blinked.

Y/N stepped forward, folding her arms tightly as she studied the footage. Her brows furrowed as she focused on the timelines, the proximity of interactions, and the symptoms.

“…It’s not airborne,” she said quietly but firmly. All eyes turned to her.

She turned toward the group. “If it were, everyone in that hospital—every nurse, every janitor, every person in that building—would have turned already. But they didn’t. The ones who were bitten or exposed to infected blood were the ones who transformed.”

She pointed at one clip. “See that nurse? She worked with multiple infected, stayed in the same room, didn’t wear a mask—still normal. But once Mr. Han bit her... transformation within minutes.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity, admiring her ability to stay composed despite everything they'd seen. Her voice was steady—clinical—but he could see the tightness in her jaw. She was holding it together… barely.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “So it’s bites and blood. We’ve got to train every unit to keep distance. No physical holds. If they’re infected, don’t touch ‘em.”

The Chief nodded slowly, beads of sweat forming again on his temple. “Then we initiate biohazard protocol. Everyone on patrol wears protective gear from now on. Gloves. Masks. No bare skin exposure.”

Y/N added, “You’ll also need to set up testing checkpoints. If someone gets bitten—even grazed—they need to be isolated immediately. No exceptions.”

One young officer stood up, panicked. “But… they look normal at first, don’t they? How do we know who’s safe? How do we trust each other?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “That’s the hardest part. You don’t.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Outside, a dull rumble echoed in the distance. An explosion? A collapsing building? No one knew anymore. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t going away.

Jungkook's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He glanced over at Y/N, who was already looking at him.

They were in the middle of a war zone now.

And it was only just beginning.

“Sir, the military has arrived!” a young officer shouted, bursting into the briefing room.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood at once. The gravity of the moment hung thick in the air—if the military was here, the situation was worse than they thought.

Jungkook instinctively placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s back, guiding her along with the others as they moved toward the station’s entrance. Outside, the noise of engines and boots filled the streets. Military vehicles lined the roads—jeeps, armored trucks, and medical transports—forming a protective barrier around the police station.

Uniformed soldiers jumped down from the vehicles, barking orders and moving in tactical formations. Their presence was strong, authoritative, efficient… and grim.

Y/N stood between Jungkook and the Chief. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the older man. He looked… off.

His posture was stiff, and he wasn’t responding to the soldiers' arrival the way the others were. His breath was uneven, his skin pale, almost bluish. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple, but when Y/N gently reached for his wrist—what she felt made her blood run cold.

His skin was ice.

“Chief…?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. “Your pulse—it's faint—”

Suddenly, his entire body jolted. His arm shot out, knocking her backward.

“Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, immediately reaching out to catch her, but the Chief lunged at her again—this time, fully transformed. His eyes had gone bloodshot, mouth snarling, strength unnatural for a man his age.

Jungkook tackled the Chief to the side, grunting as he struggled to restrain the infected man. The Chief’s hands clawed at his vest like a mad animal, teeth gnashing only inches from Jungkook’s throat.

“Get back! Don’t let him bite!” Jungkook shouted to the officers, who all hesitated, unsure what to do.

And then—bang!

A single shot rang through the chaos.

The Chief’s body slumped over Jungkook’s, lifeless.

Y/N gasped, eyes wide as the figure holding the still-smoking rifle came into view.

Kim Taehyung.

Wearing full military gear, rifle still raised, breath steady despite the scene before him. His eyes scanned the area before landing on her. The sharpness in his expression softened instantly.

“Y/N!” he called out.

She stumbled to her feet, blood on her sleeves, breath shaky—but her eyes locked onto his, and in seconds he was sprinting toward her. He dropped his rifle, arms outstretched as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“God, you’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, still catching his breath, watching the reunion unfold before him.

His eyes lingered on the way Taehyung held her, the way she clung back.

There was a pang in his chest—deep, quiet, and buried beneath years of discipline.

Namjoon appeared beside him, his voice low. “You okay, Kook?”

Jungkook gave a short nod, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

Because even in the middle of a crumbling world, where the dead walked and the cities burned… she still belonged to someone else.

As the chaos began to settle, the Chief’s body was quickly covered, soldiers regrouped, and the area was secured. Orders echoed around them, but for a moment, Jungkook just stood still, chest rising and falling heavily, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Y/N gently pulled away from Taehyung, giving him a soft nod before turning toward Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” she said, moving quickly to his side. Her voice was sharp now—not formal, not clinical, but full of urgency. “Are you hurt? Did he… did he bite you?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied, but she didn’t take his word for it.

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his uniform, eyes scanning him thoroughly.

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his outer jacket. Jungkook blinked at her but obeyed, slipping the jacket off while Namjoon subtly stepped away to give them privacy.

Y/N’s eyes darted across his skin—his neck, his arms, the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed along his forearm, checking for scratches or bites.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I told you, I’m okay.”

“I need to be sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her brows were drawn tightly together, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She pushed up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of tattooed skin—black ink curling along his veins, stories and symbols written in lines and shapes. For a second, her fingers paused, tracing one of them unconsciously.

Jungkook watched her. Felt the heat of her touch. The brush of her fingertips against his skin—gentle, like she was trying not to break him.

“You’re really not hurt?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I promise.”

Finally, she let out a breath. Her shoulders sank a little, and she nodded, her fingers slowly pulling his sleeve back down.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip before finishing that thought. Instead, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doctor instinct. I just… needed to be sure.”

Jungkook gave a soft chuckle. “No, I get it. It’s okay.”

Their eyes met—just for a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he said, his voice a little lower.

Y/N managed a small smile. “Always.”

Behind them, Taehyung called her name. She turned her head, nodding toward him.

But before she walked away, her hand brushed against Jungkook’s one more time—a quiet touch. One she probably didn’t even realize she did.

But he did.

And he felt it all the way to his heart.

The command center buzzed with coordinated movement—soldiers barking orders, officers gathering gear, med kits being loaded into vehicles. The urgency thickened in the air like smoke, everyone working like clockwork in the middle of chaos.

“We need to have a basecamp,” Taehyung said firmly, standing at the center of it all, his military uniform crisp and imposing. “A place where we can stay safe and rescue survivors. Quarantine zones, medical areas, fortified rooms for the uninfected.”

“The best place for that is outside of the city,” Jungkook chimed in, his voice serious, brows furrowed. “Wide terrain. Easier to fortify, fewer structures that can block our view. We’ll see them coming before they get close.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then that’s the plan. Initiate clearing operations outside the city. I want a double barricade. Spread word to survivors.”

“How will we know they’re not infected?” Namjoon asked.

A moment of silence followed. Everyone exchanged looks, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

“The temperature,” Y/N said, stepping forward, arms full of medical kits and supplies. “Eye color. Dilated pupils, abnormal muscle tension. We check for bite wounds. Anyone suspicious—we isolate.”

There was no room for doubt in her tone. She tossed a bag into the back of Jungkook’s police SUV and went back for another. Focused. Efficient. A doctor in full fight mode.

Jungkook silently helped her load the last of the kits into his car, the weight in his chest heavier than the gear on his back.

“All units, move out!” a soldier called.

Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting his radio, eyes focused forward. Just drive. Just do your job.

Behind him, Taehyung reached for Y/N’s hand.

“Yeobo, come,” he said softly.

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Her eyes flicked toward Jungkook’s car. He was already seated, knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched.

But she turned and followed her husband.

Jungkook didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Just started the engine like nothing happened.

But Namjoon, sliding into the passenger seat, saw it all. He closed the door with a sigh and glanced over.

“She’s his wife, Kook.”

“I know.”

Namjoon stayed quiet for a few seconds, then tried again. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “Don’t start, hyung. I don’t feel anything.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? 'Cause the guy who’s been doing push-ups every morning just to catch a glimpse of her doesn’t sound like someone who feels nothing.”

“I’m focused. That’s it.”

“Right,” Namjoon said dryly. “Focused on pretending you’re not in love with someone else’s wife while you risk your life every day.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Namjoon added after a pause.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not lying. I’m surviving.”

Namjoon turned to the window and leaned his head back. “Fine. Survive. But don’t lose yourself doing it.”

The drive out of the city was long and brutal—fires, overturned cars, empty streets littered with signs of what used to be life.

But inside Jungkook’s car, the silence between two brothers-in-arms said more than words ever could.

[bluelavendre]

Apocalypse

JJK x Reader ft. Namjoon &???

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

Police officer jjk x Doctor Reader ft.???

1/??

The low hum of an approaching engine disrupted the quiet morning air. A black patrol car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a corner café tucked into a sleepy town street—quaint, quiet, and still unaware of the chaos that would one day come.

The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man who turned more than a few heads on a daily basis. Officer Jeon Jungkook. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his uniform shirt, the tattoos winding down his arms just barely hidden beneath the fabric. His dark hair was brushed back, still damp from a morning shower, and a pair of sunglasses dangled carelessly between his fingers. He slid them on as he walked toward the café, the heavy soles of his boots thudding rhythmically on the pavement.

The bell above the café door gave a cheerful chime as he stepped inside, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and warm pastries. It smelled like comfort, like routine—like everything that made life feel normal.

“Good morning, Officer Jeon! The usual?” called Minho, the young barista behind the counter, already grinning as he pulled two cups from the stack.

“Make it two today, Minho,” Jungkook said with a small smile, voice low and smooth.

Minho raised a brow knowingly. “Feeding the beast in the passenger seat?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chuckled, pulling a few bills from his wallet.

Within minutes, two steaming cups of coffee and a paper bag filled with breakfast burritos were packed up and ready. Jungkook gave Minho a small nod of thanks before stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

He slid into the driver’s seat and handed over the goods. His partner, Officer Kim Namjoon, immediately perked up.

“Finally,” Namjoon said, lifting the lid off his coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Jeon Jungkook is buying breakfast. This is a historic day.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Jungkook muttered, biting into his burrito.

Their patrol car sat idling quietly at the curb as they ate, eyes casually scanning the street as morning life began to bloom—pedestrians with briefcases, joggers, a dog walker or two.

Then the café door opened again, and something—or rather, someone—shifted in Jungkook’s peripheral vision.

A woman stepped out, her coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. She was on the phone, her voice soft but purposeful. A doctor, judging by the embroidered name tag barely visible on her coat pocket. Hair pulled into a clean ponytail, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her every move was graceful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Namjoon, ever the observer, turned his head and caught the expression on his partner’s face. A teasing grin curled on his lips.

“Officer Jeon,” he said in a mockingly serious tone. “You forgot your sunglasses.”

Jungkook blinked. “Aish, Kim. What are you on about now?”

“I can literally see the puppy eyes,” Namjoon smirked, wiggling his brows like a high schooler watching his friend fall in love.

“She’s my neighbor, hyung,” Jungkook said defensively, but his voice lacked bite.

“Ohh,” Namjoon said with a slow nod. “I get it now. Jeon Jungkook—town hero, proud defender of the people, protector of the innocent—just casually keeping an eye out for the neighborhood doctor. How noble.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and started the engine, trying to hide the way his ears were burning.

“She’s married,” he added after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nearly choked on his burrito. “She’s what?!”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

The tires crunched over gravel as their patrol car pulled into the lot behind the station. The morning sun glinted off the rows of parked cruisers, the building standing tall in its quiet authority. Jungkook killed the engine, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out with a sigh, his boots hitting the ground with that familiar solid thud.

Namjoon scrambled out after him, still gripping his half-finished coffee.

“Wait—wait, are you for real?” he called, jogging to catch up. “She’s married? Married? To who? When?!”

Jungkook didn’t break stride as he pushed through the glass doors of the station.

“To who?” Namjoon repeated behind him. “She? That doctor? Your neighbor? What??”

Inside, the familiar scent of fresh paperwork and old floor polish filled the air. Officers passed them, nodding greetings, typing reports, making calls. Jungkook just walked faster, trying to lose his partner in the maze of desks and hallways.

“Move on, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, finally stopping by his locker. He opened it with a clang, swapping out his jacket, his expression unreadable.

Namjoon leaned on the wall beside him, still staring like he’d just been told Santa Claus was real and cheating on Mrs. Claus.

“I mean… I just didn’t expect that. She doesn’t wear a ring,” he said more quietly this time, voice finally softening.

“She used to,” Jungkook replied, not looking up.

Namjoon frowned. “Divorced?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “Military. He’s deployed. Hasn’t been home in years. But she still waits for him.”

That shut Namjoon up for a moment.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly as he pulled out his body cam, checking the battery like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “So yeah… move on, hyung.”

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched his partner in silence, something unspoken passing between them. He saw it now—the way Jungkook watched her, not just with attraction, but with quiet longing. A kind of ache no training could fix.

And maybe... the kind of ache that would only get worse.

Night had fallen, and the once-bustling streets were now quiet, bathed in the glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Jeon Jungkook sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, parked just outside his modest home. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, the radio silent for the first time all day.

He looked over.

Her car was already there—parked in its usual spot just next to his. And there she was.

Out in her front yard, crouched down with a small dish in her hands, she fed the same group of stray cats that always seemed to show up around dusk. She was barefoot, dressed in her familiar nighttime attire: a loose white top and a pair of worn-out Stitch pajama pants that looked two sizes too big—probably her husband's. There was a quiet comfort in how soft and normal it all felt.

Jungkook took a slow breath, adjusting his cap before stepping out of the car.

As if sensing him, she looked up with a small smile. “Good evening, Officer Jeon.”

Her voice was light, teasing, and yet… there was something warm in the way she said his name. Like he belonged in this tiny sliver of her world.

Jungkook felt something flutter in his chest. Damn that voice.

He tipped his cap, the one with the embroidered police emblem on the front. “Good evening, Doctor.”

She raised a brow, her smile growing. “The formalities again, Officer?”

He chuckled as he walked toward her yard. “You called me Officer first… and that’s the second time you’ve called me Doctor Y/L/N.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving him off playfully. “Good evening, Jungkook-shii.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Feeding time, huh?”

“Yep,” she said simply, scratching one of the cats behind its ears. “They’re starting to expect me now. I’m probably in trouble if I ever forget.”

Jungkook leaned against the low fence, watching the cats briefly before glancing back at her. “How was your day?”

She sighed, the weariness finally catching up to her as she sat back on her heels. “Rough. We had… a boy come into the ER today. Maybe ten years old. Violent. Ferocious. It took four of us to hold him down. We thought it was rabies, but…” Her voice trailed off. “We’re still running tests.”

The easy atmosphere shifted slightly. Jungkook’s posture straightened, the officer in him taking over. “That doesn’t sound like just rabies,” he said, voice low. “You should be careful, Doc. Some things hide behind friendly faces.”

He nodded toward the cat closest to her feet. It looked up innocently with round eyes and a twitching tail.

She glanced at the cat, then back at him with a small, amused smile. “Note taken, sir.”

They stood there for a beat, the wind brushing lightly through the trees, the rustling leaves whispering like secrets in the dark.

“I should probably go inside,” she said softly, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Goodnight again, Jungkook-shii.”

Jungkook gave her a small nod, watching as she stepped back into her yard, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she opened her door. She turned back once more, smiled, and disappeared inside.

Only then did Jungkook finally head toward his own front door, unlocking it slowly, his eyes flicking one last time to her porch.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once.

Then again.

Louder.

And then it suddenly stopped.

The soft blue of early morning clung to the neighborhood like a blanket, cool and quiet. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, and the sky had only started its slow stretch toward dawn.

Jeon Jungkook was already outside.

His front porch creaked slightly under the rhythm of his push-ups—steady, controlled, but if you watched closely, you’d see his tempo waver every now and then. Not from fatigue.

From glancing toward the house next door.

The cool air kissed his skin, dew clinging to the wooden planks beneath him. His black tank top clung to his sculpted frame, soaked slightly with early sweat. The ink along his arms was on full display in the soft dawn light—script tattoos weaving around his right forearm, elegant cursive mingling with delicate symbols, a tiger lily peeking near the inside of his elbow. A bold eye on his forearm seemed to watch the world with him.

The one that always drew the most attention was the sleeve on his right hand—"Truth" and "Rather be dead than cool" etched between sharp black lines and sacred geometry, crawling up his wrist and knuckles like shadows from a dream. There was a faint glint of the “ARMY” tattoo just below his thumb—a tribute to loyalty and memory—and near the inside of his bicep, a barely noticeable date in Roman numerals. Something personal. Something he never talked about.

He told himself this was just part of his routine. Push-ups. Mind clear. Stay strong. Protect people.

But this morning, like every morning lately, it was more than that.

He was waiting.

And right on time, the porch light flicked on next door.

She stepped outside, barefoot and blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose as she carried a steaming mug to the porch railing. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and those familiar Stitch pajama pants—clearly from another life—she looked as soft and out of place in this gritty world as spring snow.

Jungkook paused, holding a push-up mid-motion. His gaze softened.

She looked around at the sound of paws and claws on wood—stray cats gathering near her like a daily ritual. She poured kibble into their little bowl and murmured something gentle he couldn’t hear from this distance.

Then, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

“Do you ever sleep, Jungkook-shii?” she called across the stillness, her voice cracking a little from sleep.

He stood, grabbing the towel from the porch railing and casually wiping his arms—inking catching the light. “Morning cardio. Gotta stay in shape in case someone needs rescuing.”

She lifted her cup in mock salute. “Ah, the neighborhood hero returns.”

“Always on duty, Doctor,” he replied, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

But he noticed it—the brief flicker behind her eyes. The slight downturn of her mouth before she masked it with a sip of coffee.

“Everything alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just… weird dreams. And the hospital called earlier. The boy from yesterday—he’s missing.”

Jungkook’s easy demeanor vanished.

“Missing?” he repeated, brows knitting.

“They had him restrained. Last night’s security footage got corrupted somehow, and when the nurses did rounds this morning, he was just… gone.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. His hand unconsciously drifted to the tattoo over his chest, hidden under fabric—a symbol of resilience he got the day after his first failed case. A quiet reminder to never let things slip through the cracks.

“Could be something,” he said carefully. “I’ll check in with dispatch. See if anything’s been flagged overnight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

He didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t sure it was nothing.

A strange silence lingered between them, until she spoke again.

“Well… I should get ready for work. See you later, Jungkook-shii,” she said, offering a tired smile.

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer.

“Be safe, Doctor.”

She turned, disappearing inside.

And Jungkook stood there for a while longer, the cool air biting at his inked skin, unease creeping under his ribs.

Somewhere, deep in the city, another siren wailed.

Jungkook pulled into the precinct parking lot just as the city stirred to life. The rising sun painted the sky in smudges of coral and gray, but the air felt heavier than usual—like the day knew something no one else did yet.

He stepped out of the cruiser, fingers instinctively adjusting the bulletproof vest under his jacket. The precinct doors buzzed open, and he was immediately met with Namjoon pacing near the monitor wall, brows drawn tight.

“Jungkook,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got another one. This one’s bad.”

Namjoon tapped the screen, and a grainy video clip began to play. It looked like security cam footage from a small gas station somewhere in the west outskirts of Seoul. A young man—barefoot, bloodied, twitching—stumbled into frame. The clerk behind the counter started shouting. But the boy didn’t flinch. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Feral.

Then he lunged.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched the chaos erupt on-screen. Screams. Shaking camera. The boy biting—tearing—into someone’s arm before the feed cut.

Namjoon exhaled shakily. “Same symptoms. Unresponsive to speech. Aggressive. Animalistic.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the precinct door banged open.

“ATTENTION!”

Every officer in the room snapped up from their stations. The chief walked in, tall and sharp in his pressed uniform, a file in one hand and urgency in his steps.

“At ease,” the chief barked, dropping the folder onto the front desk. “Listen up. Things are escalating.”

He looked at each officer, locking eyes.

“The hospital has started reporting a growing number of bite-related injuries. Mostly erratic behavior. Some… fatal. The government’s flagged this as a potential outbreak scenario. Low-level for now, but spreading.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Jungkook didn’t move. His mind immediately flashed to her. The way she looked this morning. The concern in her voice when she said “we barely restrained him.”

The chief continued. “As of this morning, all precincts have been ordered to begin collaboration with local hospitals. Ours has been assigned to Seoul Medical East—where the first recorded case was brought in.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

That was her hospital.

“You’ll work closely with doctors for intel, security, and containment if necessary,” the chief said. “This is no longer just a public disturbance issue—it’s a medical emergency. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped back as the officers got to work, some grouping around computer terminals, others checking radios and prepping riot gear. Namjoon nudged Jungkook, concern etched across his face.

“Your doctor friend,” he said quietly, “that’s her hospital, right?”

Jungkook nodded, grabbing his gear.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The convoy of police cruisers roared down the main avenue, their sirens piercing the thick tension in the air. Flashing red and blue lights danced across the hospital's white facade, casting eerie glows on panicked faces and shattered windows.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked, heart pounding like a war drum.

As soon as they arrived, the scene exploded before them—nurses screaming, patients writhing on stretchers, and doctors desperately trying to sedate bodies that thrashed like wild animals.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon whispered beside him, stepping out of the car. “It’s worse than the footage.”

The emergency entrance was a warzone. One nurse flew backward, her shoulder slammed by a middle-aged man foaming at the mouth. Another patient bit down hard on a stretcher’s metal rail, teeth cracking.

“READY, MEN!” the chief barked, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His hand shot into the air, commanding immediate formation.

“All teams—gear up! Secure perimeter, and assist medical staff where necessary. We are not here to kill—we are here to contain!” the chief ordered.

He turned sharply toward Jungkook, eyes hard. “Officer Jeon—I’m putting you in charge of interior containment with your squad.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook responded, saluting sharply.

He spun to his men, voice loud and unwavering despite the panic around them.

“Alpha team—assist the nurses in the ER, use riot shields if needed! Beta team, lock down the west hallway and keep ferals from crossing over to ICU! No guns unless absolutely necessary—we do not shoot civilians!”

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded, immediately breaking into teams.

Jungkook's boots thundered against the tile as he rushed inside, weaving through overturned chairs and knocked-over IV stands. The hospital interior looked like a scene from a horror movie—blood smeared on walls, flickering lights, oxygen tanks rolling loose across the floor.

He scanned faces—nurses, doctors, infected—desperately searching for one in particular.

Where was she?

Then—

Through a half-open door in the east wing, he heard a familiar voice.

“No—please stay still—you're hurting yourself! Mr. Han, stop—STOP!”

Jungkook burst into the room.

There she was—struggling to restrain an elderly patient whose face had turned a sickly gray, pupils dilated, veins dark and raised under translucent skin. He snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog, knocking over a tray of medical tools.

Without thinking, Jungkook lunged forward.

He grabbed the old man from behind, using his strength to pin him against the wall.

“Doc, MOVE!” he shouted.

She stumbled back, panting, eyes wide with panic and relief.

“Jungkook-shii—he bit two nurses,” she gasped. “I couldn’t sedate him—he broke the restraints.”

Jungkook wrestled the man to the ground, twisting his wrists into an emergency zip tie restraint. “Namjoon!” he shouted into his radio, “Get two officers to Room 203! I need backup and a gurney!”

Static crackled before Namjoon responded. “On it!”

She was still breathing hard, her hands trembling. Jungkook looked up at her, eyes full of worry.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I—he almost got me, but I’m okay.”

Jungkook stood, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll keep you close.”

Outside the room, more screams echoed.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Something terrible was unfolding here.

BANG!

The thunderous sound of a gunshot echoed through the hospital hallway, sharp and deafening. Jungkook instinctively pulled her down behind a tipped-over gurney, shielding her body with his own as the high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

“NO SHOOTING!” Jungkook roared into his radio. “We’re surrounded by civilians—HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

But his voice barely cut through the chaos.

Inside the room, Mr. Han’s head snapped violently toward the nurse beside him—eyes wide, veins throbbing beneath his skin—and without warning, he lunged. His teeth sank into her neck before anyone could stop it.

“NO!” the nurse screamed—just once—before her voice turned into gurgled, wet gasps. Blood sprayed across the floor, slick and red.

Jungkook shoved her behind him. “Stay down!” he barked.

The nurse staggered backward, clawing at the wall—but her eyes were already changing. Dilated. Glazed. Her body twitched unnaturally, jerking in spasms that looked less like pain and more like possession.

She locked eyes with Jungkook.

And then—she lunged, growling.

“Kook, MOVE!”

The door slammed open and Namjoon charged in with two officers. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired.

BANG. BANG.

The nurse’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath her. Mr. Han was next, restrained but still snarling like a beast, veins pulsing like snakes under his skin.

“We had no choice, Kook,” Namjoon said breathlessly, lowering his weapon. “They’re not human anymore. They’re too strong.”

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up—one moment it was a hospital, the next, a battlefield.

She slowly stood beside him, blood splattered on her cheek, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“This isn’t rabies…” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s something worse.”

Jungkook turned to Namjoon. “Get the survivors out. Lock every damn hallway. We need quarantine zones—now.”

“On it,” Namjoon said, signaling his officers.

Jungkook turned back to her, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re coming with me.”

She hesitated. “I—I can’t leave my patients—”

“There are no more patients,” Jungkook said, eyes haunted. “There are only survivors.”

Their eyes met. And in that moment, they both knew:

Something had begun.

“We only have a few survivors, sir!” an officer reported, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes wide with panic.

Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon sprinted toward the remaining cluster of police officers huddled near the ER exit. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—closer now—and the once-bustling hospital was now a battlefield of overturned stretchers, broken glass, and moaning bodies.

“We need to move,” the Chief barked. His face was pale, his uniform stained with blood. His hand gripped his side tightly, but he kept his composure. “Fall back to the station—we need an emergency meeting. The military has been contacted. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour.”

Y/N stepped forward, catching the subtle shake in the Chief’s hand, the way he was trying not to limp. Her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing, keeping the observation to herself for now.

“Sir,” she said urgently, “some infected patients ran out into the streets. If we don’t act now, this won’t stay contained. We’ll need to evacuate the city. The virus—whatever this is—it spreads too fast.”

The Chief glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. He hesitated just for a moment—barely long enough to notice.

“We’ll discuss it at the station,” he said. “Doctor, we’ll need you there. The government wants input from the frontline—we can’t stand out here any longer. It’s not safe.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook said, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward his cruiser. The tension in his jaw was tighter than ever.

She slid into the front passenger seat, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the seatbelt. Jungkook slid into the driver’s side, immediately starting the engine. Namjoon took the back seat, loading his rifle beside him with grim silence.

As they pulled out, the scene around them grew worse with every block. Seoul had begun to fall.

Fires had broken out in the distance. Cars were abandoned in the middle of intersections. People ran down sidewalks screaming, dragging children behind them. Some banged on shop doors, begging to be let in. Others… weren’t human anymore.

A man slammed into their windshield briefly, growling—his face covered in blood—before he was thrown off as Jungkook swerved.

“This is hell already,” Namjoon muttered from the back seat, gripping his weapon tightly. “How the fuck did it spread this fast?”

Y/N stared out the window, watching as a woman knelt in the street, clutching the limp body of a child. “It’s air-borne, or blood-borne—or both,” she whispered. “The incubation time is almost nonexistent.”

Jungkook’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the road, jaw locked, scanning every corner for threats. He was no longer just an officer. He was a protector now. Not just of the city—but of her.

“I’m getting you both to safety,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sirens faded as they neared the station.

But even there—chaos was waiting.

The police station, once a place of routine, reports, and quiet paperwork, had transformed into a nerve center buzzing with dread. Officers ran in and out, phones rang constantly, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with the weight of a city crumbling outside.

Inside the briefing room, the air was tense. Everyone was on edge—some still in their bloodied uniforms, others clearly fresh from patrols. Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon entered, the sound of their boots echoing off the tile floor. Y/N immediately felt the shift in atmosphere—this wasn’t just a city crisis anymore. This was a national emergency.

The Chief stood at the front, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave her a quick glance—one that lingered just a little too long—but said nothing. Behind him, a projection screen blinked to life.

Security footage rolled.

One clip after another.

Doctors being dragged down hallways.

Nurses screaming as feral patients lunged at them.

A young boy in restraints suddenly snapping two guards' arms with unnatural strength.

A woman coughing up blood in an alleyway before attacking her own brother.

The room fell into silence except for the faint static of the audio feed. No one moved. No one blinked.

Y/N stepped forward, folding her arms tightly as she studied the footage. Her brows furrowed as she focused on the timelines, the proximity of interactions, and the symptoms.

“…It’s not airborne,” she said quietly but firmly. All eyes turned to her.

She turned toward the group. “If it were, everyone in that hospital—every nurse, every janitor, every person in that building—would have turned already. But they didn’t. The ones who were bitten or exposed to infected blood were the ones who transformed.”

She pointed at one clip. “See that nurse? She worked with multiple infected, stayed in the same room, didn’t wear a mask—still normal. But once Mr. Han bit her... transformation within minutes.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity, admiring her ability to stay composed despite everything they'd seen. Her voice was steady—clinical—but he could see the tightness in her jaw. She was holding it together… barely.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “So it’s bites and blood. We’ve got to train every unit to keep distance. No physical holds. If they’re infected, don’t touch ‘em.”

The Chief nodded slowly, beads of sweat forming again on his temple. “Then we initiate biohazard protocol. Everyone on patrol wears protective gear from now on. Gloves. Masks. No bare skin exposure.”

Y/N added, “You’ll also need to set up testing checkpoints. If someone gets bitten—even grazed—they need to be isolated immediately. No exceptions.”

One young officer stood up, panicked. “But… they look normal at first, don’t they? How do we know who’s safe? How do we trust each other?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “That’s the hardest part. You don’t.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Outside, a dull rumble echoed in the distance. An explosion? A collapsing building? No one knew anymore. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t going away.

Jungkook's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He glanced over at Y/N, who was already looking at him.

They were in the middle of a war zone now.

And it was only just beginning.

“Sir, the military has arrived!” a young officer shouted, bursting into the briefing room.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood at once. The gravity of the moment hung thick in the air—if the military was here, the situation was worse than they thought.

Jungkook instinctively placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s back, guiding her along with the others as they moved toward the station’s entrance. Outside, the noise of engines and boots filled the streets. Military vehicles lined the roads—jeeps, armored trucks, and medical transports—forming a protective barrier around the police station.

Uniformed soldiers jumped down from the vehicles, barking orders and moving in tactical formations. Their presence was strong, authoritative, efficient… and grim.

Y/N stood between Jungkook and the Chief. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the older man. He looked… off.

His posture was stiff, and he wasn’t responding to the soldiers' arrival the way the others were. His breath was uneven, his skin pale, almost bluish. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple, but when Y/N gently reached for his wrist—what she felt made her blood run cold.

His skin was ice.

“Chief…?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. “Your pulse—it's faint—”

Suddenly, his entire body jolted. His arm shot out, knocking her backward.

“Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, immediately reaching out to catch her, but the Chief lunged at her again—this time, fully transformed. His eyes had gone bloodshot, mouth snarling, strength unnatural for a man his age.

Jungkook tackled the Chief to the side, grunting as he struggled to restrain the infected man. The Chief’s hands clawed at his vest like a mad animal, teeth gnashing only inches from Jungkook’s throat.

“Get back! Don’t let him bite!” Jungkook shouted to the officers, who all hesitated, unsure what to do.

And then—bang!

A single shot rang through the chaos.

The Chief’s body slumped over Jungkook’s, lifeless.

Y/N gasped, eyes wide as the figure holding the still-smoking rifle came into view.

Kim Taehyung.

Wearing full military gear, rifle still raised, breath steady despite the scene before him. His eyes scanned the area before landing on her. The sharpness in his expression softened instantly.

“Y/N!” he called out.

She stumbled to her feet, blood on her sleeves, breath shaky—but her eyes locked onto his, and in seconds he was sprinting toward her. He dropped his rifle, arms outstretched as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“God, you’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, still catching his breath, watching the reunion unfold before him.

His eyes lingered on the way Taehyung held her, the way she clung back.

There was a pang in his chest—deep, quiet, and buried beneath years of discipline.

Namjoon appeared beside him, his voice low. “You okay, Kook?”

Jungkook gave a short nod, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

Because even in the middle of a crumbling world, where the dead walked and the cities burned… she still belonged to someone else.

As the chaos began to settle, the Chief’s body was quickly covered, soldiers regrouped, and the area was secured. Orders echoed around them, but for a moment, Jungkook just stood still, chest rising and falling heavily, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Y/N gently pulled away from Taehyung, giving him a soft nod before turning toward Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” she said, moving quickly to his side. Her voice was sharp now—not formal, not clinical, but full of urgency. “Are you hurt? Did he… did he bite you?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied, but she didn’t take his word for it.

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his uniform, eyes scanning him thoroughly.

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his outer jacket. Jungkook blinked at her but obeyed, slipping the jacket off while Namjoon subtly stepped away to give them privacy.

Y/N’s eyes darted across his skin—his neck, his arms, the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed along his forearm, checking for scratches or bites.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I told you, I’m okay.”

“I need to be sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her brows were drawn tightly together, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She pushed up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of tattooed skin—black ink curling along his veins, stories and symbols written in lines and shapes. For a second, her fingers paused, tracing one of them unconsciously.

Jungkook watched her. Felt the heat of her touch. The brush of her fingertips against his skin—gentle, like she was trying not to break him.

“You’re really not hurt?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I promise.”

Finally, she let out a breath. Her shoulders sank a little, and she nodded, her fingers slowly pulling his sleeve back down.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip before finishing that thought. Instead, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doctor instinct. I just… needed to be sure.”

Jungkook gave a soft chuckle. “No, I get it. It’s okay.”

Their eyes met—just for a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he said, his voice a little lower.

Y/N managed a small smile. “Always.”

Behind them, Taehyung called her name. She turned her head, nodding toward him.

But before she walked away, her hand brushed against Jungkook’s one more time—a quiet touch. One she probably didn’t even realize she did.

But he did.

And he felt it all the way to his heart.

The command center buzzed with coordinated movement—soldiers barking orders, officers gathering gear, med kits being loaded into vehicles. The urgency thickened in the air like smoke, everyone working like clockwork in the middle of chaos.

“We need to have a basecamp,” Taehyung said firmly, standing at the center of it all, his military uniform crisp and imposing. “A place where we can stay safe and rescue survivors. Quarantine zones, medical areas, fortified rooms for the uninfected.”

“The best place for that is outside of the city,” Jungkook chimed in, his voice serious, brows furrowed. “Wide terrain. Easier to fortify, fewer structures that can block our view. We’ll see them coming before they get close.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then that’s the plan. Initiate clearing operations outside the city. I want a double barricade. Spread word to survivors.”

“How will we know they’re not infected?” Namjoon asked.

A moment of silence followed. Everyone exchanged looks, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

“The temperature,” Y/N said, stepping forward, arms full of medical kits and supplies. “Eye color. Dilated pupils, abnormal muscle tension. We check for bite wounds. Anyone suspicious—we isolate.”

There was no room for doubt in her tone. She tossed a bag into the back of Jungkook’s police SUV and went back for another. Focused. Efficient. A doctor in full fight mode.

Jungkook silently helped her load the last of the kits into his car, the weight in his chest heavier than the gear on his back.

“All units, move out!” a soldier called.

Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting his radio, eyes focused forward. Just drive. Just do your job.

Behind him, Taehyung reached for Y/N’s hand.

“Yeobo, come,” he said softly.

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Her eyes flicked toward Jungkook’s car. He was already seated, knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched.

But she turned and followed her husband.

Jungkook didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Just started the engine like nothing happened.

But Namjoon, sliding into the passenger seat, saw it all. He closed the door with a sigh and glanced over.

“She’s his wife, Kook.”

“I know.”

Namjoon stayed quiet for a few seconds, then tried again. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “Don’t start, hyung. I don’t feel anything.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? 'Cause the guy who’s been doing push-ups every morning just to catch a glimpse of her doesn’t sound like someone who feels nothing.”

“I’m focused. That’s it.”

“Right,” Namjoon said dryly. “Focused on pretending you’re not in love with someone else’s wife while you risk your life every day.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Namjoon added after a pause.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not lying. I’m surviving.”

Namjoon turned to the window and leaned his head back. “Fine. Survive. But don’t lose yourself doing it.”

The drive out of the city was long and brutal—fires, overturned cars, empty streets littered with signs of what used to be life.

But inside Jungkook’s car, the silence between two brothers-in-arms said more than words ever could.

[bluelavendre]

Apocalypse

THIS IS PURE FICTION!!

Police officer jjk x Doctor Reader ft. Namjoon & ?

1/??

The low hum of an approaching engine disrupted the quiet morning air. A black patrol car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a corner café tucked into a sleepy town street—quaint, quiet, and still unaware of the chaos that would one day come.

The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man who turned more than a few heads on a daily basis. Officer Jeon Jungkook. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his uniform shirt, the tattoos winding down his arms just barely hidden beneath the fabric. His dark hair was brushed back, still damp from a morning shower, and a pair of sunglasses dangled carelessly between his fingers. He slid them on as he walked toward the café, the heavy soles of his boots thudding rhythmically on the pavement.

The bell above the café door gave a cheerful chime as he stepped inside, greeted by the rich aroma of coffee beans and warm pastries. It smelled like comfort, like routine—like everything that made life feel normal.

“Good morning, Officer Jeon! The usual?” called Minho, the young barista behind the counter, already grinning as he pulled two cups from the stack.

“Make it two today, Minho,” Jungkook said with a small smile, voice low and smooth.

Minho raised a brow knowingly. “Feeding the beast in the passenger seat?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chuckled, pulling a few bills from his wallet.

Within minutes, two steaming cups of coffee and a paper bag filled with breakfast burritos were packed up and ready. Jungkook gave Minho a small nod of thanks before stepping back out into the crisp morning air.

He slid into the driver’s seat and handed over the goods. His partner, Officer Kim Namjoon, immediately perked up.

“Finally,” Namjoon said, lifting the lid off his coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Jeon Jungkook is buying breakfast. This is a historic day.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Jungkook muttered, biting into his burrito.

Their patrol car sat idling quietly at the curb as they ate, eyes casually scanning the street as morning life began to bloom—pedestrians with briefcases, joggers, a dog walker or two.

Then the café door opened again, and something—or rather, someone—shifted in Jungkook’s peripheral vision.

A woman stepped out, her coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. She was on the phone, her voice soft but purposeful. A doctor, judging by the embroidered name tag barely visible on her coat pocket. Hair pulled into a clean ponytail, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her every move was graceful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Namjoon, ever the observer, turned his head and caught the expression on his partner’s face. A teasing grin curled on his lips.

“Officer Jeon,” he said in a mockingly serious tone. “You forgot your sunglasses.”

Jungkook blinked. “Aish, Kim. What are you on about now?”

“I can literally see the puppy eyes,” Namjoon smirked, wiggling his brows like a high schooler watching his friend fall in love.

“She’s my neighbor, hyung,” Jungkook said defensively, but his voice lacked bite.

“Ohh,” Namjoon said with a slow nod. “I get it now. Jeon Jungkook—town hero, proud defender of the people, protector of the innocent—just casually keeping an eye out for the neighborhood doctor. How noble.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and started the engine, trying to hide the way his ears were burning.

“She’s married,” he added after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nearly choked on his burrito. “She’s what?!”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

The tires crunched over gravel as their patrol car pulled into the lot behind the station. The morning sun glinted off the rows of parked cruisers, the building standing tall in its quiet authority. Jungkook killed the engine, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out with a sigh, his boots hitting the ground with that familiar solid thud.

Namjoon scrambled out after him, still gripping his half-finished coffee.

“Wait—wait, are you for real?” he called, jogging to catch up. “She’s married? Married? To who? When?!”

Jungkook didn’t break stride as he pushed through the glass doors of the station.

“To who?” Namjoon repeated behind him. “She? That doctor? Your neighbor? What??”

Inside, the familiar scent of fresh paperwork and old floor polish filled the air. Officers passed them, nodding greetings, typing reports, making calls. Jungkook just walked faster, trying to lose his partner in the maze of desks and hallways.

“Move on, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, finally stopping by his locker. He opened it with a clang, swapping out his jacket, his expression unreadable.

Namjoon leaned on the wall beside him, still staring like he’d just been told Santa Claus was real and cheating on Mrs. Claus.

“I mean… I just didn’t expect that. She doesn’t wear a ring,” he said more quietly this time, voice finally softening.

“She used to,” Jungkook replied, not looking up.

Namjoon frowned. “Divorced?”

“No,” Jungkook said. “Military. He’s deployed. Hasn’t been home in years. But she still waits for him.”

That shut Namjoon up for a moment.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly as he pulled out his body cam, checking the battery like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. “So yeah… move on, hyung.”

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately. He just watched his partner in silence, something unspoken passing between them. He saw it now—the way Jungkook watched her, not just with attraction, but with quiet longing. A kind of ache no training could fix.

And maybe... the kind of ache that would only get worse.

Night had fallen, and the once-bustling streets were now quiet, bathed in the glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a passing car’s headlights. Jeon Jungkook sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, parked just outside his modest home. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, the radio silent for the first time all day.

He looked over.

Her car was already there—parked in its usual spot just next to his. And there she was.

Out in her front yard, crouched down with a small dish in her hands, she fed the same group of stray cats that always seemed to show up around dusk. She was barefoot, dressed in her familiar nighttime attire: a loose white top and a pair of worn-out Stitch pajama pants that looked two sizes too big—probably her husband's. There was a quiet comfort in how soft and normal it all felt.

Jungkook took a slow breath, adjusting his cap before stepping out of the car.

As if sensing him, she looked up with a small smile. “Good evening, Officer Jeon.”

Her voice was light, teasing, and yet… there was something warm in the way she said his name. Like he belonged in this tiny sliver of her world.

Jungkook felt something flutter in his chest. Damn that voice.

He tipped his cap, the one with the embroidered police emblem on the front. “Good evening, Doctor.”

She raised a brow, her smile growing. “The formalities again, Officer?”

He chuckled as he walked toward her yard. “You called me Officer first… and that’s the second time you’ve called me Doctor Y/L/N.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving him off playfully. “Good evening, Jungkook-shii.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Feeding time, huh?”

“Yep,” she said simply, scratching one of the cats behind its ears. “They’re starting to expect me now. I’m probably in trouble if I ever forget.”

Jungkook leaned against the low fence, watching the cats briefly before glancing back at her. “How was your day?”

She sighed, the weariness finally catching up to her as she sat back on her heels. “Rough. We had… a boy come into the ER today. Maybe ten years old. Violent. Ferocious. It took four of us to hold him down. We thought it was rabies, but…” Her voice trailed off. “We’re still running tests.”

The easy atmosphere shifted slightly. Jungkook’s posture straightened, the officer in him taking over. “That doesn’t sound like just rabies,” he said, voice low. “You should be careful, Doc. Some things hide behind friendly faces.”

He nodded toward the cat closest to her feet. It looked up innocently with round eyes and a twitching tail.

She glanced at the cat, then back at him with a small, amused smile. “Note taken, sir.”

They stood there for a beat, the wind brushing lightly through the trees, the rustling leaves whispering like secrets in the dark.

“I should probably go inside,” she said softly, standing and brushing grass off her pants. “Goodnight again, Jungkook-shii.”

Jungkook gave her a small nod, watching as she stepped back into her yard, the porch light casting a soft halo around her as she opened her door. She turned back once more, smiled, and disappeared inside.

Only then did Jungkook finally head toward his own front door, unlocking it slowly, his eyes flicking one last time to her porch.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once.

Then again.

Louder.

And then it suddenly stopped.

The soft blue of early morning clung to the neighborhood like a blanket, cool and quiet. Birds were just beginning their morning songs, and the sky had only started its slow stretch toward dawn.

Jeon Jungkook was already outside.

His front porch creaked slightly under the rhythm of his push-ups—steady, controlled, but if you watched closely, you’d see his tempo waver every now and then. Not from fatigue.

From glancing toward the house next door.

The cool air kissed his skin, dew clinging to the wooden planks beneath him. His black tank top clung to his sculpted frame, soaked slightly with early sweat. The ink along his arms was on full display in the soft dawn light—script tattoos weaving around his right forearm, elegant cursive mingling with delicate symbols, a tiger lily peeking near the inside of his elbow. A bold eye on his forearm seemed to watch the world with him.

The one that always drew the most attention was the sleeve on his right hand—"Truth" and "Rather be dead than cool" etched between sharp black lines and sacred geometry, crawling up his wrist and knuckles like shadows from a dream. There was a faint glint of the “ARMY” tattoo just below his thumb—a tribute to loyalty and memory—and near the inside of his bicep, a barely noticeable date in Roman numerals. Something personal. Something he never talked about.

He told himself this was just part of his routine. Push-ups. Mind clear. Stay strong. Protect people.

But this morning, like every morning lately, it was more than that.

He was waiting.

And right on time, the porch light flicked on next door.

She stepped outside, barefoot and blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands falling loose as she carried a steaming mug to the porch railing. Wrapped in an oversized cardigan and those familiar Stitch pajama pants—clearly from another life—she looked as soft and out of place in this gritty world as spring snow.

Jungkook paused, holding a push-up mid-motion. His gaze softened.

She looked around at the sound of paws and claws on wood—stray cats gathering near her like a daily ritual. She poured kibble into their little bowl and murmured something gentle he couldn’t hear from this distance.

Then, she looked up.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

“Do you ever sleep, Jungkook-shii?” she called across the stillness, her voice cracking a little from sleep.

He stood, grabbing the towel from the porch railing and casually wiping his arms—inking catching the light. “Morning cardio. Gotta stay in shape in case someone needs rescuing.”

She lifted her cup in mock salute. “Ah, the neighborhood hero returns.”

“Always on duty, Doctor,” he replied, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

But he noticed it—the brief flicker behind her eyes. The slight downturn of her mouth before she masked it with a sip of coffee.

“Everything alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just… weird dreams. And the hospital called earlier. The boy from yesterday—he’s missing.”

Jungkook’s easy demeanor vanished.

“Missing?” he repeated, brows knitting.

“They had him restrained. Last night’s security footage got corrupted somehow, and when the nurses did rounds this morning, he was just… gone.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. His hand unconsciously drifted to the tattoo over his chest, hidden under fabric—a symbol of resilience he got the day after his first failed case. A quiet reminder to never let things slip through the cracks.

“Could be something,” he said carefully. “I’ll check in with dispatch. See if anything’s been flagged overnight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

He didn’t respond. Because he wasn’t sure it was nothing.

A strange silence lingered between them, until she spoke again.

“Well… I should get ready for work. See you later, Jungkook-shii,” she said, offering a tired smile.

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a moment longer.

“Be safe, Doctor.”

She turned, disappearing inside.

And Jungkook stood there for a while longer, the cool air biting at his inked skin, unease creeping under his ribs.

Somewhere, deep in the city, another siren wailed.

Jungkook pulled into the precinct parking lot just as the city stirred to life. The rising sun painted the sky in smudges of coral and gray, but the air felt heavier than usual—like the day knew something no one else did yet.

He stepped out of the cruiser, fingers instinctively adjusting the bulletproof vest under his jacket. The precinct doors buzzed open, and he was immediately met with Namjoon pacing near the monitor wall, brows drawn tight.

“Jungkook,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got another one. This one’s bad.”

Namjoon tapped the screen, and a grainy video clip began to play. It looked like security cam footage from a small gas station somewhere in the west outskirts of Seoul. A young man—barefoot, bloodied, twitching—stumbled into frame. The clerk behind the counter started shouting. But the boy didn’t flinch. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Feral.

Then he lunged.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he watched the chaos erupt on-screen. Screams. Shaking camera. The boy biting—tearing—into someone’s arm before the feed cut.

Namjoon exhaled shakily. “Same symptoms. Unresponsive to speech. Aggressive. Animalistic.”

Before Jungkook could respond, the precinct door banged open.

“ATTENTION!”

Every officer in the room snapped up from their stations. The chief walked in, tall and sharp in his pressed uniform, a file in one hand and urgency in his steps.

“At ease,” the chief barked, dropping the folder onto the front desk. “Listen up. Things are escalating.”

He looked at each officer, locking eyes.

“The hospital has started reporting a growing number of bite-related injuries. Mostly erratic behavior. Some… fatal. The government’s flagged this as a potential outbreak scenario. Low-level for now, but spreading.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Jungkook didn’t move. His mind immediately flashed to her. The way she looked this morning. The concern in her voice when she said “we barely restrained him.”

The chief continued. “As of this morning, all precincts have been ordered to begin collaboration with local hospitals. Ours has been assigned to Seoul Medical East—where the first recorded case was brought in.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

That was her hospital.

“You’ll work closely with doctors for intel, security, and containment if necessary,” the chief said. “This is no longer just a public disturbance issue—it’s a medical emergency. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped back as the officers got to work, some grouping around computer terminals, others checking radios and prepping riot gear. Namjoon nudged Jungkook, concern etched across his face.

“Your doctor friend,” he said quietly, “that’s her hospital, right?”

Jungkook nodded, grabbing his gear.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The convoy of police cruisers roared down the main avenue, their sirens piercing the thick tension in the air. Flashing red and blue lights danced across the hospital's white facade, casting eerie glows on panicked faces and shattered windows.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked, heart pounding like a war drum.

As soon as they arrived, the scene exploded before them—nurses screaming, patients writhing on stretchers, and doctors desperately trying to sedate bodies that thrashed like wild animals.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon whispered beside him, stepping out of the car. “It’s worse than the footage.”

The emergency entrance was a warzone. One nurse flew backward, her shoulder slammed by a middle-aged man foaming at the mouth. Another patient bit down hard on a stretcher’s metal rail, teeth cracking.

“READY, MEN!” the chief barked, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. His hand shot into the air, commanding immediate formation.

“All teams—gear up! Secure perimeter, and assist medical staff where necessary. We are not here to kill—we are here to contain!” the chief ordered.

He turned sharply toward Jungkook, eyes hard. “Officer Jeon—I’m putting you in charge of interior containment with your squad.”

“Yes, sir!” Jungkook responded, saluting sharply.

He spun to his men, voice loud and unwavering despite the panic around them.

“Alpha team—assist the nurses in the ER, use riot shields if needed! Beta team, lock down the west hallway and keep ferals from crossing over to ICU! No guns unless absolutely necessary—we do not shoot civilians!”

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded, immediately breaking into teams.

Jungkook's boots thundered against the tile as he rushed inside, weaving through overturned chairs and knocked-over IV stands. The hospital interior looked like a scene from a horror movie—blood smeared on walls, flickering lights, oxygen tanks rolling loose across the floor.

He scanned faces—nurses, doctors, infected—desperately searching for one in particular.

Where was she?

Then—

Through a half-open door in the east wing, he heard a familiar voice.

“No—please stay still—you're hurting yourself! Mr. Han, stop—STOP!”

Jungkook burst into the room.

There she was—struggling to restrain an elderly patient whose face had turned a sickly gray, pupils dilated, veins dark and raised under translucent skin. He snarled and snapped at her like a rabid dog, knocking over a tray of medical tools.

Without thinking, Jungkook lunged forward.

He grabbed the old man from behind, using his strength to pin him against the wall.

“Doc, MOVE!” he shouted.

She stumbled back, panting, eyes wide with panic and relief.

“Jungkook-shii—he bit two nurses,” she gasped. “I couldn’t sedate him—he broke the restraints.”

Jungkook wrestled the man to the ground, twisting his wrists into an emergency zip tie restraint. “Namjoon!” he shouted into his radio, “Get two officers to Room 203! I need backup and a gurney!”

Static crackled before Namjoon responded. “On it!”

She was still breathing hard, her hands trembling. Jungkook looked up at her, eyes full of worry.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. I—he almost got me, but I’m okay.”

Jungkook stood, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “You shouldn’t be here alone. I’ll keep you close.”

Outside the room, more screams echoed.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Something terrible was unfolding here.

BANG!

The thunderous sound of a gunshot echoed through the hospital hallway, sharp and deafening. Jungkook instinctively pulled her down behind a tipped-over gurney, shielding her body with his own as the high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

“NO SHOOTING!” Jungkook roared into his radio. “We’re surrounded by civilians—HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

But his voice barely cut through the chaos.

Inside the room, Mr. Han’s head snapped violently toward the nurse beside him—eyes wide, veins throbbing beneath his skin—and without warning, he lunged. His teeth sank into her neck before anyone could stop it.

“NO!” the nurse screamed—just once—before her voice turned into gurgled, wet gasps. Blood sprayed across the floor, slick and red.

Jungkook shoved her behind him. “Stay down!” he barked.

The nurse staggered backward, clawing at the wall—but her eyes were already changing. Dilated. Glazed. Her body twitched unnaturally, jerking in spasms that looked less like pain and more like possession.

She locked eyes with Jungkook.

And then—she lunged, growling.

“Kook, MOVE!”

The door slammed open and Namjoon charged in with two officers. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired.

BANG. BANG.

The nurse’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath her. Mr. Han was next, restrained but still snarling like a beast, veins pulsing like snakes under his skin.

“We had no choice, Kook,” Namjoon said breathlessly, lowering his weapon. “They’re not human anymore. They’re too strong.”

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up—one moment it was a hospital, the next, a battlefield.

She slowly stood beside him, blood splattered on her cheek, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“This isn’t rabies…” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s something worse.”

Jungkook turned to Namjoon. “Get the survivors out. Lock every damn hallway. We need quarantine zones—now.”

“On it,” Namjoon said, signaling his officers.

Jungkook turned back to her, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re coming with me.”

She hesitated. “I—I can’t leave my patients—”

“There are no more patients,” Jungkook said, eyes haunted. “There are only survivors.”

Their eyes met. And in that moment, they both knew:

Something had begun.

“We only have a few survivors, sir!” an officer reported, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes wide with panic.

Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon sprinted toward the remaining cluster of police officers huddled near the ER exit. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance—closer now—and the once-bustling hospital was now a battlefield of overturned stretchers, broken glass, and moaning bodies.

“We need to move,” the Chief barked. His face was pale, his uniform stained with blood. His hand gripped his side tightly, but he kept his composure. “Fall back to the station—we need an emergency meeting. The military has been contacted. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour.”

Y/N stepped forward, catching the subtle shake in the Chief’s hand, the way he was trying not to limp. Her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing, keeping the observation to herself for now.

“Sir,” she said urgently, “some infected patients ran out into the streets. If we don’t act now, this won’t stay contained. We’ll need to evacuate the city. The virus—whatever this is—it spreads too fast.”

The Chief glanced at her, sweat beading on his brow. He hesitated just for a moment—barely long enough to notice.

“We’ll discuss it at the station,” he said. “Doctor, we’ll need you there. The government wants input from the frontline—we can’t stand out here any longer. It’s not safe.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Jungkook said, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward his cruiser. The tension in his jaw was tighter than ever.

She slid into the front passenger seat, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the seatbelt. Jungkook slid into the driver’s side, immediately starting the engine. Namjoon took the back seat, loading his rifle beside him with grim silence.

As they pulled out, the scene around them grew worse with every block. Seoul had begun to fall.

Fires had broken out in the distance. Cars were abandoned in the middle of intersections. People ran down sidewalks screaming, dragging children behind them. Some banged on shop doors, begging to be let in. Others… weren’t human anymore.

A man slammed into their windshield briefly, growling—his face covered in blood—before he was thrown off as Jungkook swerved.

“This is hell already,” Namjoon muttered from the back seat, gripping his weapon tightly. “How the fuck did it spread this fast?”

Y/N stared out the window, watching as a woman knelt in the street, clutching the limp body of a child. “It’s air-borne, or blood-borne—or both,” she whispered. “The incubation time is almost nonexistent.”

Jungkook’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the road, jaw locked, scanning every corner for threats. He was no longer just an officer. He was a protector now. Not just of the city—but of her.

“I’m getting you both to safety,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sirens faded as they neared the station.

But even there—chaos was waiting.

The police station, once a place of routine, reports, and quiet paperwork, had transformed into a nerve center buzzing with dread. Officers ran in and out, phones rang constantly, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with the weight of a city crumbling outside.

Inside the briefing room, the air was tense. Everyone was on edge—some still in their bloodied uniforms, others clearly fresh from patrols. Jungkook, Y/N, and Namjoon entered, the sound of their boots echoing off the tile floor. Y/N immediately felt the shift in atmosphere—this wasn’t just a city crisis anymore. This was a national emergency.

The Chief stood at the front, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave her a quick glance—one that lingered just a little too long—but said nothing. Behind him, a projection screen blinked to life.

Security footage rolled.

One clip after another.

Doctors being dragged down hallways.

Nurses screaming as feral patients lunged at them.

A young boy in restraints suddenly snapping two guards' arms with unnatural strength.

A woman coughing up blood in an alleyway before attacking her own brother.

The room fell into silence except for the faint static of the audio feed. No one moved. No one blinked.

Y/N stepped forward, folding her arms tightly as she studied the footage. Her brows furrowed as she focused on the timelines, the proximity of interactions, and the symptoms.

“…It’s not airborne,” she said quietly but firmly. All eyes turned to her.

She turned toward the group. “If it were, everyone in that hospital—every nurse, every janitor, every person in that building—would have turned already. But they didn’t. The ones who were bitten or exposed to infected blood were the ones who transformed.”

She pointed at one clip. “See that nurse? She worked with multiple infected, stayed in the same room, didn’t wear a mask—still normal. But once Mr. Han bit her... transformation within minutes.”

Jungkook watched her with quiet intensity, admiring her ability to stay composed despite everything they'd seen. Her voice was steady—clinical—but he could see the tightness in her jaw. She was holding it together… barely.

Namjoon leaned back in his chair. “So it’s bites and blood. We’ve got to train every unit to keep distance. No physical holds. If they’re infected, don’t touch ‘em.”

The Chief nodded slowly, beads of sweat forming again on his temple. “Then we initiate biohazard protocol. Everyone on patrol wears protective gear from now on. Gloves. Masks. No bare skin exposure.”

Y/N added, “You’ll also need to set up testing checkpoints. If someone gets bitten—even grazed—they need to be isolated immediately. No exceptions.”

One young officer stood up, panicked. “But… they look normal at first, don’t they? How do we know who’s safe? How do we trust each other?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “That’s the hardest part. You don’t.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Outside, a dull rumble echoed in the distance. An explosion? A collapsing building? No one knew anymore. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t going away.

Jungkook's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He glanced over at Y/N, who was already looking at him.

They were in the middle of a war zone now.

And it was only just beginning.

“Sir, the military has arrived!” a young officer shouted, bursting into the briefing room.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood at once. The gravity of the moment hung thick in the air—if the military was here, the situation was worse than they thought.

Jungkook instinctively placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s back, guiding her along with the others as they moved toward the station’s entrance. Outside, the noise of engines and boots filled the streets. Military vehicles lined the roads—jeeps, armored trucks, and medical transports—forming a protective barrier around the police station.

Uniformed soldiers jumped down from the vehicles, barking orders and moving in tactical formations. Their presence was strong, authoritative, efficient… and grim.

Y/N stood between Jungkook and the Chief. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the older man. He looked… off.

His posture was stiff, and he wasn’t responding to the soldiers' arrival the way the others were. His breath was uneven, his skin pale, almost bluish. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple, but when Y/N gently reached for his wrist—what she felt made her blood run cold.

His skin was ice.

“Chief…?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. “Your pulse—it's faint—”

Suddenly, his entire body jolted. His arm shot out, knocking her backward.

“Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, immediately reaching out to catch her, but the Chief lunged at her again—this time, fully transformed. His eyes had gone bloodshot, mouth snarling, strength unnatural for a man his age.

Jungkook tackled the Chief to the side, grunting as he struggled to restrain the infected man. The Chief’s hands clawed at his vest like a mad animal, teeth gnashing only inches from Jungkook’s throat.

“Get back! Don’t let him bite!” Jungkook shouted to the officers, who all hesitated, unsure what to do.

And then—bang!

A single shot rang through the chaos.

The Chief’s body slumped over Jungkook’s, lifeless.

Y/N gasped, eyes wide as the figure holding the still-smoking rifle came into view.

Kim Taehyung.

Wearing full military gear, rifle still raised, breath steady despite the scene before him. His eyes scanned the area before landing on her. The sharpness in his expression softened instantly.

“Y/N!” he called out.

She stumbled to her feet, blood on her sleeves, breath shaky—but her eyes locked onto his, and in seconds he was sprinting toward her. He dropped his rifle, arms outstretched as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“God, you’re safe,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re safe…”

Jungkook stood a few feet away, still catching his breath, watching the reunion unfold before him.

His eyes lingered on the way Taehyung held her, the way she clung back.

There was a pang in his chest—deep, quiet, and buried beneath years of discipline.

Namjoon appeared beside him, his voice low. “You okay, Kook?”

Jungkook gave a short nod, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Not really.

Because even in the middle of a crumbling world, where the dead walked and the cities burned… she still belonged to someone else.

As the chaos began to settle, the Chief’s body was quickly covered, soldiers regrouped, and the area was secured. Orders echoed around them, but for a moment, Jungkook just stood still, chest rising and falling heavily, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

Y/N gently pulled away from Taehyung, giving him a soft nod before turning toward Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” she said, moving quickly to his side. Her voice was sharp now—not formal, not clinical, but full of urgency. “Are you hurt? Did he… did he bite you?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied, but she didn’t take his word for it.

She reached for his arm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his uniform, eyes scanning him thoroughly.

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his outer jacket. Jungkook blinked at her but obeyed, slipping the jacket off while Namjoon subtly stepped away to give them privacy.

Y/N’s eyes darted across his skin—his neck, his arms, the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt. Her fingers grazed along his forearm, checking for scratches or bites.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I told you, I’m okay.”

“I need to be sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her brows were drawn tightly together, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth.

She pushed up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of tattooed skin—black ink curling along his veins, stories and symbols written in lines and shapes. For a second, her fingers paused, tracing one of them unconsciously.

Jungkook watched her. Felt the heat of her touch. The brush of her fingertips against his skin—gentle, like she was trying not to break him.

“You’re really not hurt?” she asked again, her voice quieter this time.

He shook his head. “I promise.”

Finally, she let out a breath. Her shoulders sank a little, and she nodded, her fingers slowly pulling his sleeve back down.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip before finishing that thought. Instead, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doctor instinct. I just… needed to be sure.”

Jungkook gave a soft chuckle. “No, I get it. It’s okay.”

Their eyes met—just for a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he said, his voice a little lower.

Y/N managed a small smile. “Always.”

Behind them, Taehyung called her name. She turned her head, nodding toward him.

But before she walked away, her hand brushed against Jungkook’s one more time—a quiet touch. One she probably didn’t even realize she did.

But he did.

And he felt it all the way to his heart.

The command center buzzed with coordinated movement—soldiers barking orders, officers gathering gear, med kits being loaded into vehicles. The urgency thickened in the air like smoke, everyone working like clockwork in the middle of chaos.

“We need to have a basecamp,” Taehyung said firmly, standing at the center of it all, his military uniform crisp and imposing. “A place where we can stay safe and rescue survivors. Quarantine zones, medical areas, fortified rooms for the uninfected.”

“The best place for that is outside of the city,” Jungkook chimed in, his voice serious, brows furrowed. “Wide terrain. Easier to fortify, fewer structures that can block our view. We’ll see them coming before they get close.”

Taehyung nodded. “Then that’s the plan. Initiate clearing operations outside the city. I want a double barricade. Spread word to survivors.”

“How will we know they’re not infected?” Namjoon asked.

A moment of silence followed. Everyone exchanged looks, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

“The temperature,” Y/N said, stepping forward, arms full of medical kits and supplies. “Eye color. Dilated pupils, abnormal muscle tension. We check for bite wounds. Anyone suspicious—we isolate.”

There was no room for doubt in her tone. She tossed a bag into the back of Jungkook’s police SUV and went back for another. Focused. Efficient. A doctor in full fight mode.

Jungkook silently helped her load the last of the kits into his car, the weight in his chest heavier than the gear on his back.

“All units, move out!” a soldier called.

Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, adjusting his radio, eyes focused forward. Just drive. Just do your job.

Behind him, Taehyung reached for Y/N’s hand.

“Yeobo, come,” he said softly.

Y/N hesitated for a split second. Her eyes flicked toward Jungkook’s car. He was already seated, knuckles white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched.

But she turned and followed her husband.

Jungkook didn’t look. Didn’t flinch. Just started the engine like nothing happened.

But Namjoon, sliding into the passenger seat, saw it all. He closed the door with a sigh and glanced over.

“She’s his wife, Kook.”

“I know.”

Namjoon stayed quiet for a few seconds, then tried again. “But it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook let out a soft scoff and shook his head. “Don’t start, hyung. I don’t feel anything.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? 'Cause the guy who’s been doing push-ups every morning just to catch a glimpse of her doesn’t sound like someone who feels nothing.”

“I’m focused. That’s it.”

“Right,” Namjoon said dryly. “Focused on pretending you’re not in love with someone else’s wife while you risk your life every day.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” Namjoon added after a pause.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not lying. I’m surviving.”

Namjoon turned to the window and leaned his head back. “Fine. Survive. But don’t lose yourself doing it.”

The drive out of the city was long and brutal—fires, overturned cars, empty streets littered with signs of what used to be life.

But inside Jungkook’s car, the silence between two brothers-in-arms said more than words ever could.

[trivia-yandere]

starstruck (2)

the world of flashing lights, screaming people and new projects and jobs are all new to you - luckily jungkook is right by your side for every step of it.

word count: 5.471

warning: unsolicited touching/fingering, power imbalance, manipulation, guilt tripping :{, oral sex, smut, unprotected sex, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, possessive behavior,

part one

“What do you think the blogs would say about us?” Jungkook jokes, a soft smile on his thin lips. He glances away from the obvious pap with a camera and eyes you. 

“Nothing too bad I hope.” you laugh. 

You don’t want to follow Jungkook’s eyes and catch the cameraman - or several - all pointing and snapping pictures at the two of you. They were mainly here for Jungkook, of course, as you were still a fresh face.

Jungkook had asked you to go to lunch today. Shooting didn’t start until later on so it was easier to agree. Months of shooting the movie, it was easier to say that Jungkook and you were growing closer as co-workers.

Friends?

Could you say Jungkook and you were friends? Everytime you think about how you and he slept together - for the sake of the movie, of course - it makes your body hot. But damn did it also make the scenes easier when you had to pretend to moan a certain way. Jungkook had told you to just remember how good you felt for him that night and to pretend that it was all real now.

“What could they say?”

Jungkook smiles at the server as she drops two plates on either side of you. You only got a salad while Jungkook opted for a steak.

“They’ll probably be dating rumors.” Jungkook speaks again. He’s cutting into his steak, his eyes watching it intently. 

“Really?” you murmur. Your eyes glances out the window to see if there’s anyone you notice snapping pictures, your nerves flowing.

“Don’t look so scared.” Jungkook laughs, sinking his teeth into the steak. His eyes are now watching you closely, taking in your soft features. “Besides, it’ll be good press.”

You knit your brows. “Good press?”

Jungkook nods. You aren’t accustomed to this lifestyle and still - months in - he finds it cute. “We’re going to have to promote the movie before and during its release.” he explains just as you begin to pour the cup of dressing onto your salad.

“You’re right.” you snort at yourself. This was a big movie and that meant promotion. The movies you’ve acted in before didn’t require that in the slightest. “I’ve never had to do that before. Do we just…talk about the movie?”

Jungkook nods his head. “Yes. We say enough without disclosing too much until after it’s released. But…” he trails off, wiggling his eyebrows. It causes you to giggle a bit, lifting the salad to your mouth and munching. “....it’d be a better promotion if people assume we’re a couple.”

You hum, tilting your head. You suppose he was correct. If people thought Jungkook and you were a couple, it would get even more eyes on the movie. It would get people pondering about you and him - especially you as the upcoming actress alongside such a powerful face. 

“Until they see the movie and witness just how toxic everything is.” you joke a bit.

Jungkook takes another bite of his steak. “People love toxic.” he shrugs one shoulder. “Some people are going to find it hot. Find us hot.”

Your body warms once more with how Jungkook says it. The way his eyes are staring right through you is an added bonus, reminding you of just how well he’s gotten to know you in such a short amount of time. 

“We have to give the people what they want, right?” Jungkook raises one brow, awaiting your response.

You’re silent at first, unsure of what to do or say. Then, you nod your head. It was obvious that Jungkook wanted you to - and wanted for the two of you to go through with what he suggested. He was the one with the experience, after all.

As for Jungkook, he offers a warm smile. His eyes sparkle a bit as he watches you, knowing full and well that the camera outside the restaurant was going to capture this genuine moment between the two of you. He holds out his right hand for you to take and slowly, you do, a bit uncertain. 

“You,” Jungkook begins, his thumb rubbing along the top of your hand. “are going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your cheeks are warm and you nod your head. It was as if you were in a trance, fully captivated by the performance that Jungkook was putting on - if this was even a performance in his eyes or not.

“So tell us, how do the two of your characters meet in the movie?” the interviewer asks, dancing her eyes between you and Jungkook. “I’ve seen the trailer of it and it’s…” she shakes her head, a smile forming on her lips that shows a tint of mischief. “...hot to say the least.”

“And toxic.” Jungkook chuckles, turning his head to the left to glance your way.

Your eyes catch his and you return his smile. “Sooo toxic.” you agree, a short laugh passing your lips immediately after. “When the trailer released, I wasn’t expecting all the positive feedback on a horror-like movie. But this is also my first big movie I did, so it’s all surreal.”

The camera man is sure to capture the looks between you and Jungkook, the way his smile would brighten when you’d look his way.

“But, our characters meet in a club in which I’m a bartender.” you explain. You’re seated so close to Jungkook that your shoulder brushes his. 

“Strip club.” the interview nods, raising her brows. 

“Yes,” you chuckle, nodding your head. “a strip club. We filmed in an actual club downtown where I was shown how to serve the drinks and all.”

Jungkook watches the way you explain, moving your hands to explain further. His mind wanders to the club scene, recalling the way you were dressed for said scene. He licks his lips, his mind flashing to the leather you wore. Backless halter top with matching tight leather pants that looked entirely too appealing on you. 

“And my character pays for a lapdance from her. In the movie, it’s a big deal since she’s not a dancer, but a bartender.” Jungkook explains, glancing at the interviewer. “It’s, of course, supposed to show that my character was someone with power and money. Especially if he paid for her the entire night.”

There was another look shared between you and Jungkook. Once more, you both laugh sheepishly, recalling the many times you had to give him a lap dance simply because you or him were messing up.

“In the movie, he came with his friends but he was the birthday boy.” you say, knocking your shoulder into Jungkook’s playfully. “When you watch the movie, it really shows how complex his character is.”

The interviewer raises her eyebrows. “How so?”

“At first, he’s…shy. Nervous even.” Jungkook answers. “And each time he comes back to the bar, he’s more confident. He doesn’t show who he really is until later on into the movie.”

“I guess that’s what makes it a thriller.” the interviewer wiggles her eyebrows. “What were your favorite scenes you did together?”

The camera captures you and Jungkook glance at one another again, both of you putting on an amazing show of chemistry. Ever since shooting wrapped up and now, the trailer dropping, you and Jungkook were all anyone could talk about. You had people who shipped you two together, coming up with couple names already while others made up their own synopsis of what the movie would be about with what little they were given.

With Jungkook, it was never truly a dull moment. Even during photoshoots, he and you had fun. Witnessing him become the Jungkook you know - funny, sweet and caring, to the character was amazing. He knew how to turn it on and off and even during photoshoots, he showed it. The movie poster behind you and him now captures the possessiveness his character has over yours. His arms wrapped around you, eyes staring right at you while yours were instructed to look towards the camera. The movie title is displayed right about you, yet seems to fade off a bit to solely focus on you and him.

“Mine would have to be…” you trail off, thinking for a moment. “...when he finally shows his true colors, I suppose. He becomes possessive entirely until it’s too unbearable for her to handle.”

You turn to face Jungkook, cheeks warming when he’s already looking your way.

“My favorite would have to be a much more…intimate scene.” Jungkook states. “It comes right after we had an argument and my character charms her a bit. He’s been acting crazy and obsessive but he has a way with words.”

Your smile falls a bit as you recall the exact scene Jungkook’s referencing. Your whole body feels warm now and you shift in your seat at being reminded of it.

The intimate scene itself wasn’t what caused you to shift. You and he had done much more uncomfortable scenes for a movie such as this. No, it was how ashamed you felt at doing something like that with Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t see a problem with it. The scene caused for you and hilton beneath the covers anyways. The director, a few crew and an intimacy coach were there and you’ve done exactly what you were supposed to do. Like the intimacy coach said, intimate moments were usually acts of camera play anyways.

Yet Jungkook fingering you in front of the unknowing crew wasn’t a part of the schedule. His lips on yours to silent your protest as his fingers forced their way through your shorts and into your panties. It’s what the script called for, right? Why pretend to do it if he could do it for real and capture your actual moans and groans - all without anyone knowing what’s going on.

The adrenaline going through Jungkook as he pumps his invasive fingers in and out of you is insane to him. His lips kiss down your neck, soft voice telling you that “everything is okay” and to just “go along with it”.

Your mind had gone blank and you didn’t know what to do yourself. You didn’t want to ruin the scene or make Jungkook out to be a creep. So you helplessly laid there, widening your thighs as Jungkook’s fingers pound in you, his palm rubbing against your wet clit. He leans away a bit to look in your fluttering eyes, a smug look on his face at the genuine pleasure on your face. Even if it wasn’t in the script, he places his lips against yours possessively. He moans during the kiss, your lips one of his favorite tastes.

 And even as it was over by you, embarrassingly, cumming all over Jungkook’s hands, the director yells cut and even compliments the both of you. “It felt so raw and real.” he stated - how right he was.

You blink a few times when you feel Jungkook’s hand on your knee, squeezing it a bit.

“Yeah.” you smile a bit, awkwardly. “I remember that scene, too.”

“Y/N, tell me,” the interview leans forward a bit. “you’re the new star. You’re the talk of the internet now.” she starts. “How was it working side by side with the infamous Jeon Jungkook?”

You lick your lips. “It was hard at first. I was new to this.” you explain. “But…Jungkook made it easier for me. We got to know one another and it made things more relaxed on set. I would say he’s become a very close friend to me.”

Jungkook simpers your way, his eyes twinkling a bit at your words. His heart does a small jolt at your praises, finding that he enjoys your praises and compliments - even if he hears them from everyone constantly.

Almost overnight, you are a star. Your name is everywhere - news articles, social media posts. Your name is screamed alongside Jungkook’s during red carpet events - events you and he both attend. While Jungkook admired how beautiful you looked while alone during your pictures, he adored holding the small of your back as it was time for you and him to take pictures together. He went as far as stating that for all events and press tours, you and he should coordinate outfits - for the movie, of course.

The movie was a success, skyrocketing your career alongside Jungkook’s. Witnessing billboards advertising your movie - a movie that actually made theaters and wasn’t a cheap made-for-tv movie - left you in awe. 

And it didn’t stop there.

People actually liked you and Jungkook together. You were told to ignore hate tweets, but those were minimal compared to the ones you’ve received that enjoyed watching the movie - even if it was a disturbing one. 

The people loving you and Jungkook together meant that you were supposed to give them what they wanted - what Jungkook wanted. “Stand a little closer to me.” he’d murmur to you, flashing lights nearly blinding you. Jungkook told you to try to not look directly into them, but past them - you didn’t get the hang of it just yet. “We should be seen more often in public.” Jungkook suggested, going as far as holding your hand and oftentimes, pressing his lips to the back of it.

You were far too shy to ask Jungkook why you and he continued going on like this. You danced around the question whenever asked about your relationship with the established man, you’d laugh nervously and just say you and he were just friends.

Even with the amount of pictures and videos of you and Jungkook at red carpet events, his hands on your waist and you so close to his side. But you had to! The crowded spaces of red carpets and microphones being shoved in your face was overwhelming - and Jungkook knew just how to react each and every time.

Jungkook enjoyed your perfume, especially when it was left on his suit at the end of the night. What he enjoyed more than your perfume on his suit, was having you in his bed at night.

Jungkook, however, wasn’t shy to speak about you. Whenever asked, his smile would brighten, as would his eyes. He could steer his interview away from him and talk about you for as long as they’d let him - “Y/N’s such a natural behind the camera,” he’d say. “It’s because of her performance that the director is thinking of a sequel,”

“I actually love Y/N very much,” your eyes widen as you listen to the interview, headphones over your ears. Your heart pumps loudly in your chest, your hands growing sweaty. “we’ve been dating for quite some time now…” he trails off with a laugh, a pink tint to his cheeks.

You tear the headphones from your ears and throw them aside. Your body is warm by his words, having been sent the interview countless times. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time that you’ve silenced your phone.

“You aren’t upset with me are you?” Jungkook asked when he arrives to your penthouse - it was a gift from him after you landed a modelling deal. He told you the cost was pocket change when you expressed concerns. He doesn’t tell you it’s because he has his own suite just on the other side of the building - not yet at least. “I thought you knew I loved you, Y/N, how could you not?”

You could never stay mad with Jungkook, especially not when he wraps you in a warm embrace. He always smells so clean  - like soap, oddly enough.

Jungkook’s lips are already on your neck, kissing down the soft skin as you shudder. “I want people to know you’re mine.” he murmurs against you, hands possessively pulling you close. “Want to show the world just how much I love and adore you.” he states.

You’re naked in a matter of seconds. You could never stay mad at Jungkook for long. A part of you believes that without Jungkook, you would be nowhere. You wouldn’t be feating upon fine dining meals with him, and instead would be eating the same take-out chinese in your much smaller apartment booking shitty horror movie gigs. 

Jungkook had done what he promised you. He had made you a star. People knew your name. They actually liked you and your performance - there was going to be a sequel set to start filming at the end of the year and you had Jungkook to thank for that; for believing in you.

Jungkook’s lips kiss down your stomach, forcing your legs apart. Your back is against your silk sheets, the coolness of them adding goosebumps to your warm skin. His hands are soft, only a bit callused as they slide down your naked body and rest on your thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful, my love. You’re my little shining star.” Jungkook murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. He doesn’t like to waste time, even if he does adore worshipping your body. 

Jungkook’s tongue, ever so slowly, teases your clit. He’s shuddering with excitement at your moans, finding them far too enticing. Far too enticing that he shoves his tongue deeper against your wet cunt.

Your hand tangles into Jungkook’s hair, lightly tugging to keep him in place. Your eyes watch the way his head bobs back and forth, devouring your pussy like his finest meal. He’s moaning against it, lapping his warm tongue against your clit over and over again. Suckling sounds are growing louder and louder, fingernails digging into your inner thigh to assure you don’t attempt to move in the slightest.

“Feels s-so good.” you whimper, grinding your hips a bit against his tongue, allowing yet another moan from parted lips. 

Eyes flicker up to look at you, clouded in darkened lust. He continues to suckle and lick, never coming up for a breath until your legs are shaking, back arching and you’re moaning so loud that it dances off the high ceilings. The scene is so beautiful, he thinks. The floor to ceiling-high windows display the city lights, but your penthouse is so high that you never close your curtains.

Your thighs close in, caging Jungkook between your legs. You’re greedily grinding against his tongue, your stomach churning and sinking in. Jungkook doesn’t go to stop you - he doesn’t mind the way your thighs are squeezing his head. Instead, he allows you to grind against his tongue until you’re cumming. 

You’re whining, eyes squeezed shut. He knows you’re going to cum, so his fingers curling inside of your already greedy cunt was just the icing on the cake. You’re babbling Jungkook’s name over and over again, voice growing higher and higher. Your pussy is soaking his lips and chin entirely and eventually, you’re cumming all over him.

“You’re so beautiful, baby, and all mine.” Jungkook grunts, removing himself from your glistening clit. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Your chest rises and falls, your pussy clenching and unclenching.

“Say it.” Jungkook demands. He starts with his shirt first, removing it from his body and discarding it. “Say that you’re mine.” he continues. He goes to his pants next, tearing them off along with his underwear. His cock is throbbing to be deep in your warm cunt.

“I’m yours.” you murmur, glading wrapping your arms around Jungkook as he hovers above you. Your hands roam his bare chest, to his shoulders then down his biceps. “I’m yours.” you repeat, fluttering your lashes innocently like you do.

Damn right you were, Jungkook thinks.

Jungkook doesn’t care about wearing a condom, but you’re also adamant on being on birth control. You just became a big star, getting pregnant wasn’t something that’s going to ruin that.

Jungkook’s cock is shoved right into you, your walls immediately tightening around him. He doesn’t hesitate to press your legs over his shoulder, gripping your thigh as he begins to pump his cock in and out of you. The way Jungkook stretches you is intoxicating, his cock ruining your pussy with how rough he is - but you’ve never complained. 

Jungkook knows he’s a great fucker - he’s been told countless times. But with you, it’s different. He cares about your pleasure. He wants you shaking with bliss with how well his cock fucks you, witnessing your arousal coating his cock and thighs. 

“My little star,” Jungkook coo’s, your face drawn in such gratification. Your hands squeeze his bicep in an attempt to slow him down, but he wasn’t going to. “you’re so beautiful on my cock, baby. All mine.”

Jungkook’s speed quickens, his skin slapping harshly against yours and it echoes off the high ceilings. It was beginning to rain, the droplets slamming against the window.  His cock is pounding so deep and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.  

“Your cock feels so good!” you gasp. Your hand squeezes his tattoo bicep for support, his tip reaching your g-spot each and every time. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles, licking his lips. Your velvety walls entice him, sinking him deeper and deeper into you. He’s positive your thighs would have fingernail marks just as his biceps would have from yours, but of course neither of you care. “My shining star looks so pretty right now. You were upset because I told everyone I loved you, huh?”

Your cheeks are warm at the “love” word, but your heart is pounding. It all feels surreal - to be loved by someone like him. You were waiting to wake up one day and be back in your small apartment and for all of this to be a dream.

“N-No,” you cry, shaking your head a bit. “I love you, too.”

You’re unaware just how easily the two of you throw around the word love. Your love is from a mentee to a mentor, your admiration for Jungkook high. You never wanted to disappoint him and you prayed often that his own likeness for you wouldn’t fade.

Jungkook’s love for you is that of obsession, now - possession. He found you, a diamond in the rough, and gave you the opportunity of a lifetime. He molded you into the perfect star that you are now, beloved by the people and soon,  you’d be at the top of the world. 

All because of him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, his eyes squinting into slits. “your pussy is amazing, my little star. All for me and me only.”

Jungkook forces your legs away and up against your shoulders. The new position causes you to yelp with how deep he is. He grinds his cock into you, watching your eyes widen and your lips fall apart. 

“My pussy to fuck any time I want, right?” Jungkook growls, your bouncing breast enticing him. Fuck, did you feel good around him.

“Slow…slow down, Kook-”

“No,” Jungkook hisses. If anything, he goes harder.

You cry for Jungkook to slow down, but the way you were squeezing around him indicates that you don’t want him to. You’re milking his cock right now, leaking all over your bed that he’s paid for like a little whore. Your eyes water, becoming glossier as overstimulation hits you.

“My pussy to fuck as hard as I want, too. You belong to me, my little star. Everything when it comes to you is mine.”

You were so silly, Jungkook thinks, begging him to slow down but you’re cumming all over him. Sticky juices coating his abdomen as you lay limp against your bed, twitching legs - but Jungkook wasn’t done yet, not until he was cumming.

Your eyes are fluttering, moans a hushed whimper now as his cock pounds in and out of you sloppily, curses and grunts releasing from your lips until you feel him cum inside of you. 

“You’re…firing me?”

You remain silent, eyes casting away as your agent looks between you and Jungkook.

“Y/N doesn’t need your surfaces anymore.” Jungkook speaks up. You and he are seated in the diner and all you’re drinking is a latte at the moment. You were too nervous and you know you won’t be able to hold anything down.

Your agent scoffs. She licks her lips for a moment, glaring her eyes to you. 

“Say something, Y/N.” she demands. “If you’re firing me, don’t have your boyfriend do it.” she scoffs with a bitter laugh.

Your body is warm with embarrassment and nerves. You didn’t want to look at her and see the look in her eyes of now being without a job. Your heart is pounding, your palms growing sweaty. 

“You’re pathetic.” she groans.

“Watch your mouth.” Jungkook pipes in, his voice dangerously low. 

The diner is nearly empty, only occupied with older people who always minded their business - one of the main reasons why Jungkook loved coming here with you. That, and the banana pancakes were the best in town.

“Fuck the both of you.” your now ex-agent spats, slamming her hands against the table. You are seated in the far back of the diner and no heads turn. “You think just because you’re an actress now that got your big break that you’re on top?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You didn’t want to be here right now. This wasn’t even your idea, you think, it was Jungkook. He was the one that suggested that he be your agent and manager as he was an actor and he understood the in’s and out’s of the entertainment industry.  He could negotiate you for bigger and better deals and movie contracts that suited you the best - not some agent who wasn’t known at all.

“I said,” Jungkook hisses, leaning against the table. “watch your fucking mouth.” he says through gritted teeth. His hand reaches out and two fingers poke against her forehead roughly and rather disrespectfully. “I was nice enough to give you another client. Don’t piss me off.”

“Jungkook,” you murmur, finally glancing up. “Stop-”

“Fuck you.” your ex-agent repeats. She stands and shakes her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure you did.

Everything went through Jungkook first before you. With Jungkook managing you, that meant that the opportunities were endless. You were an ambassador for popular and well-known brands. You got to wear - and keep - clothing from high end brands. You stared in tv-shows and commercials and got movie deals alongside actors you’ve never thought you’d be in the same room as - all like Jungkook.

But Jungkook wasn’t just your agent and manager, but your boyfriend. He reads the things people say about you online - the good, the bad and the perverted. There were accounts that said such disgusting things about you - what they wanted to do to you.

And your toes. 

Jungkook had managed to get the site taken down, but that wasn’t the end of it. You received fanmail and gifts and he only ever kept those that were from girls, but it was hard.

“The script needs to be changed.” Jungkook scoffs, slamming the book down against the coffee table.

“What’s wrong with it?” the director asks with raised eyebrows. “Y/N is the lead. Our final girl.”

“And that’s amazing.” Jungkook shrugs. Jungkook had told them prior that if they wanted you in this movie, that you had to be the final girl. He wouldn’t allow you to play a useless character - you were his shining star and stars don’t die in movies. “But there’s a sex scene.”

The director scoffs. “Yea.” he says slowly. “This is a horror movie. Sex sells in horror.” he says. “There’s sex scenes in the movie you two did together.”

Jungkook tilts his head, unamused. There was a reason why he doesn’t care about the sex scene you and he did in his movie - and the director knows that.

“If you want Y/N in your movie,” Jungkook begins. “change. The. Scene.” he says slowly. “Or she’s going somewhere else.”

The scene was changed and at every shoot you were supposed to be on, Jungkook was there. He loves seeing you act - you were a natural. He adored driving down and seeing you on billboards or against buildings. 

Jungkook does this to keep an eye on you, of course. He trusts you, but not whatever men that were on set. 

It was even better when Jungkook and you walked together, side by side and arm in arm. You and him were the hottest couple the entertainment industry had. Jungkook made it his mission to support all your projects, supporting them during interviews and events, showing how supportive he was of you and your growing career.

You’re so busy with this new success that you don’t even notice your ex-agent never working in the industry again. Wherever she tries to tell her story of how horrible Jungkook treated her, her accounts would just get banned or people would refuse to believe it. She isn’t allowed in any event near you or him and is escorted out by security upon arrival.

You also don’t notice how everyone steer clears from you at times. Not because of anything you’ve done, but because of Jungkook. 

You haven’t heard the way he berated your co-star, not an unknown actress, but nowhere near his level, when she had accidently got in front of your shot during a scene.

You weren’t present when he threatened to make sure the director didn’t work in this industry again if he didn’t give you better clothing and lighting - his shining star deserved everything money could buy. After all, he was funding all of this.

You don’t - until you do.

You’ve never seen  Jungkook so angry. The way he yells at the stylist for daring to dress you in clothes that aren't appealing. How she had cried before apologizing, rolling the rack of clothes out of your room. Your eyes have widened at Jungkook and he shakes his head. “It’s hard to get good help.”

“That was uncalled for.” you murmur. You turn your head to face him. He’s holding a small glass of dark liquor and he scoffs. 

“Do you think I’d allow them to dress you in undeserving clothing, Y/N?” Jungkook licks his lips. “You deserve better.”

“You made her cry.” you cross your arms. “She’s just doing her job, Kook.”

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips again, dark eyes watching you as he takes another swig of it. “I’m doing my job, too.” he murmurs, licking his lips. “As your agent, manager and boyfriend.”

Your shoulders relax for a moment. You didn’t like when Jungkook was mean to people, especially at your expense. However, a side of you knew that he was doing this for your sake.

“I know.” you murmur, sighing. You drop your arms. “Still, go easy on them.”

Jungkook nods his head, but he knows more than anyone that he wasn’t going to go easy. Never when it came to you.

Whatever drama behind the scenes with Jeon Jungkook never made its way to the public. Whoever went against his orders were fired and blackballed - actors, crew, writers and directors. He had far too much pull in this industry that whatever happened behind closed doors would never see the light. 

Jungkook loves you, however. You were his shining star, after all. He adored you with every fiber of his being. It’s why he finds himself now, on one knee with the largest diamond ring you’ve ever seen in your life. The crowd is screaming and the lights are flashing even faster now. At first you’re confused, until you hear everyone screaming “say yes”.

Your head turns to Jungkook and your eyes widen. Your heart is pumping so loudly in your ears that you find it hard to breathe. Your palms grow sweaty, nervousness building up. You were on the red carpet for a new movie - not a proposal.

Jungkook’s eyes narrow as you continue to look at him, a glint in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. It causes you to blink a few times before smiling widely. “...Y-Yes!” you squeal.

Jungkook slides the sparkling ring onto your finger and gets on your feet. He wraps you in his arms, kissing your forehead. 

Jungkook senses your hesitance, the scared yet slightly upset look in your eyes - maybe because this was your moment that he had made about the two of you. Yet he does what he does because he loves you - you’re his shining star. He had molded you from the unknown actress in shitty movies, to a star whose light hadn’t faded all in under two years. He’s made you the top model, actress and ambassador - the least you could do was show him more appreciation for his hard word and investment.

After all, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Jungkook’s wrath. He could show you another side of him that you wouldn’t love in the slightest.

@darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @chimmy-licious @investedreader @allie-in-the-moon @iveivory @annyeongbitch7 @minshookie29 @honeymeraki @keen-li @minimoninini @parkinglot-nights @frxnkiie @haru-jiminn @whothefuckisthishoe @mar-lo-pap @jimineepaboya @lola75111 @crybaby29 @bluelavendre

[bluelavendre]

You just made my day😭😭😭😭

[bluelavendre]

Special Producer

BTS ot7 x reader fluff

Other Stuff Here

Drabble 1

The overhead lights buzzed quietly in the BigHit practice room, casting a soft glow on the mirrored walls and freshly polished floor. The air held the scent of sweat, cleaning fluid, and something else too—something tighter, more electric.

Seven boys stood side by side, their postures varying between stiff and fidgety. Some shuffled nervously, others kept their heads slightly bowed. Excitement mixed with uncertainty in the air like dust motes dancing in sunlight.

The door creaked open.

You stepped in gently, careful not to make too much noise. A notebook was tucked tightly to your chest, and your oversized hoodie nearly swallowed your hands. Your headphones were looped around your neck, and your eyes flicked up, just for a moment, to meet the sea of unfamiliar faces staring at you.

“She’s here,” said the manager, motioning to you. “This is Y/N. She’s a songwriter and producer, born in ‘96 like some of you. She’s been working behind the scenes for years now. You’ll be seeing more of her from today.”

You gave a tiny bow. “Hello... I’m Y/N. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Your voice was soft—barely above a whisper—but there was something about the way you stood: reserved, yes, but grounded. You didn’t need to be loud. You had presence.

Namjoon was the first to blink out of the stunned silence. “Wait, you’re... our age?”

You nodded lightly. “Mhm. Just a few months difference, probably.”

“Woah…” Taehyung whispered. “She’s like a quiet boss.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and quickly looked down at your notebook.

Jungkook peeked out from behind Hoseok’s shoulder, eyes wide. “She looks so young…”

“She is young,” Jimin whispered to him.

You cleared your throat gently and looked up, eyes kind but focused. “I know I don’t look very… experienced. But I’ve been doing this for a while.”

Yoongi, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, tilted his head slightly, observing. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, thoughtful.

“We’re not doubting you,” Namjoon said quickly, stepping forward. “We’re just… kind of surprised. In a good way.”

You smiled softly, brushing your sleeve down over your hand. “It’s okay. Happens a lot.”

Jungkook seemed to summon his courage. “Umm… have you worked with… like, real idols?”

You nodded again, a bit shyly. “Yes. I just like writing. Arranging. Helping artists tell their stories.”

The room was silent for a moment—out of respect now, not confusion.

“I like her already,” Hoseok whispered.

You caught it but pretended not to hear, instead flipping open your notebook and glancing around. “You all trained hard today, right?”

“Y-Yeah!” they said, almost in unison.

“Would it be alright if I listened to something?” you asked. “Maybe a verse or chorus of something you’ve practiced?”

They all nodded, and Jin stepped over to cue up the track. As the music started, you stood quietly by the console, scribbling in your notebook now and then. Your expression was soft, thoughtful, but focused. Every note, every rhythm, you took it in like it mattered.

And it did matter—to you, and clearly, to them too.

After a while, you looked up, your voice a little steadier. “You’re all really talented. There's… a lot of emotion in how you perform. We can shape that into something special.”

Jimin beamed. Taehyung grinned so wide his eyes disappeared. Even Yoongi nodded slightly in approval.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’ll start small. A few writing sessions. We’ll figure out what suits you best.”

“Thank you for helping us,” Jungkook said suddenly, his voice sincere and soft. “Really.”

You blinked, surprised, then gave a quiet smile. “It’s my pleasure. Just… don’t be scared to try things. Mistakes are okay.”

And just like that, the tension in the room melted.

The quiet, shy producer with a mind full of melodies had made her entrance—and the seven boys knew, even if they didn’t fully understand it yet…

This was the start of something important.