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hi i just had comments about your most recent post.

i completely agree. it's absolutely bizarre to be that so many people in the jjk fandom headcanon asian characters, specifically toji, to speak in african american vernacular english--like its a fetish or something. he has never spoken like that in the anime/manga, since when was it a thing to just headcanon culture and language etc? i see it in emoji's too (especially in smau's lol) where they just all of a sudden have megumi or gojo using like a dark skinned thumbs up. odd.

i also am so glad to see someone talking about the whole playing an x oc off as an x reader thing. its SO annoying. yes, i understand that to some extent it is impossible to avoid passing some characteristics off on your characters, as they cannot feasibly do NOTHING, and their actions speak to their personality. but because of that i am much more tolerant with personality traits written into stories than physical traits. no, i don't believe that the mc having straight or curly hair, thin or thick lips, pale or dark skin, influences your 500 word fic about them going to an arcade. i mean they aren't exactly racial commentary-esque, allegorical, deep, thought provoking explorations of racism--in which case, i understand how race and associated traits would be relevant; they're super short feel good pieces of writing targeted largely to teenagers/people in their twenties. it's ridiculous to include arbitrary race indicating traits when they pose no relevance and you're choosing to mention them only to make them more similar to yourself. MAKE. AN. X. O. C. and then base it off yourself. who cares? but the entire point, challenge and beauty of an x reader is to write a work of fiction that is as least exclusionary as possible to include the widest breadth of people.

again, my biggest caveat to that is when an exclusive trait impacts the plot of the fic in a non trivial way. i know this is debatable, but to me, if the only impact something has on your x reader is to a.) shape one insignificant line mentioned by a character in your work, and b.) exclude like half your audience, then just take it out??? like i understand the appeal of having a fic that feels so applicable and specific to you, but i mean is one "he's sooo much taller than me as he reaches to grab a mug that will play no future significance off the top shelf" really that big a deal? but thats all just my opinion. past that, i think what we should all agree on is that if you want to write an x chubby reader, x poc reader, x black reader, x european reader, such that it IMPACTS THE PLOT, then go ahead--but then market it as such. that way people who don't want to read it, who don't fit the target demographic, don't read it.

and back on that smau emoji thing again, i hate seeing like a pale or dark or any non-yellow emoji used by the reader. i understand the yellow emoji has its flaws (i.e. it's ugly, can suggest the sender to be asian, based upon racist stereotypes, etc) but the fact is that the entire intent behind it's design was that it was a neutral (as in non-exclusionary) skin tone, and it's the closest emoji we have to that. it least suggests one race, complexion, over another.

why send the palest, darkest emoji for no reason? that doesn't impact your story, it serves only to exclude. you're writing an x reader--exclusion is exactly what you're trying to avoid.

anyway. sorry to be spamming your inbox, it's just been driving me INSANE for so long now and i saw your post and just couldn't help myself.

I love this, like you broke it down to a T. I've always wondered to myself why describing the readers features helps the story move along? It makes no sense to me unless it's absolutely detrimental. Like his height difference over a smaller frame, like do tall girlies not exist? The point of an x reader fic is to make the reader feel like they're part of the scenario, it allows us to put our imagination to use and describing the reader defeats that purpose. And the emoji thing pisses me off clean, it doesn't make sense. I have to emphasize the fact that an Asian girl or white girl in an au is using ebonics in text messages, and they don't even speak like that. They write off tik tok trending sounds that are heavily backed up by the black community on tik tok and then classify it as "using a meme". I just never feel represented here and when I feel like I am, it's a typical bratty, sassy, ghetto black girl and it's honestly disheartening. Writers need to be okay with writing for themselves instead of leading an audience on. Thanks for your ask, I'm glad you feel it as deeply as I do. <3

#anon ask #ask rere #ask #rerefundslocals

fictional-lifee

We'll Be Alright

Pairing: zombie apocalypse!Jungkook x reader, established relationship, mention of childhood friends

Summary: On a supply run when things go wrong.

Warning(s): character death, small mention of gore, panic attack, lots of crying.

Note: the zombies are inspired by the walking dead zombies so they'll be called walkers at times.

You'd heard whispers about an old school a little farther out, just past the area you usually hit for supply runs—the same strip with the hollowed out grocery store, the pharmacy that's been empty for months, and the cluster of restaurants stripped down to bare walls. Supposedly, the school hadn't been touched yet. Some said it was too far. Others swore it was crawling with the dead. Either way, the chance that something useful might still be hidden inside was enough to make the risk worth it.

The van rattles and groans as it eats up the cracked road, it's rusted frame threatening to shake apart every time Namjoon swerves around debris. The smell of gasoline and mildew clings to the seats, and the muffled sound of loose metal tools clanking together in the back sets everyone's nerves on edge. No one's really talking much— just listening, straining to catch the faintest groan or shuffle that might mean the dead aren't far.

Through the vans dirty windshield, the outline of the school begins to take shape on the horizon. From a distance, it looks like it's been abandoned for decades—windows dark and jagged, the flagpole bent nearly in half, rust streaking the brick walls. The closer you get, the more wrong it feels. The air is heavy, unnervingly still, and even Jimin—who usually cracks some kind of joke to lighten the tension, has gone quiet.

Somewhere inside the building, there might be food, medicine, maybe even weapons. Or maybe all that's left are echoes of those who tried and failed to take it before you. Either way, you and the others are about to find out.

You move cautiously through the schools dim hallways, the silence broken only by the soft scuff of boots against cracked linoleum. Your rifle hangs heavy against your back, it's strap biting into your shoulder, while the cold weight of a pistol rest snug in the holster at your hip. And your other hand, a knife glitnts faintly under the beam of dying sunlight faltering through the boarded windows.

So far, you've been lucky—only running into a few of the dead, easy enough to put down quickly and quietly. Still, the building feels suffocating, every shadow stretching too far, every corner holding the possibility of something waiting just out of sight.

The group has already swept through classrooms and bathrooms, doors creaking loudly as they swung open to reveal nothing but overturned desks, moldy paper, and peeling paint. The only real finds so far are two half filled water bottles, a pack of gum, and some abandoned menstrual products. The disappointment weighs heavier with every empty room.

Namjoon finally breaks the silence, his voice low but carrying in the stillness. "We've checked three hallways already. Barely anything. The cafeterias are best bet—if there's food left anywhere, it'll be there."

A sigh slips from you before you can stop it. Frustration scratches at the edges of your voice as you answer, "Namjoon, we've torn apart half this place and found scraps. What makes you think raiders didn't strip the cafeteria clean months ago?"

He slows, turning just enough for his eyes to catch yours in the dim light. There's a stubborn set to his jaw, the same look he always gets when he knows the odds are stacked but refuses to back down.

"We don't know" he admits quietly. "But we can't afford to walk away. We're running low on food, ammo, everything. If there's even the smallest chance something's left in there, we have to try."

The words settle heavy in the air, pulling all of you forward toward the cafeteria doors, where silence presses thicker, and the faint smell of decay begins to creep through the halls.

You move toward the double doors in a tight formation, every step echoing faintly off the cracked tile floor. Jungkook and Namjoon take point, rifles raised and ready, while you and Jimin bring up the rear with pistols drawn. The air feels heavy, like the school itself is holding its breath.

Namjoon slides to the left side of the door pressing his back to the wall, while Jungkook mirrors him on the right. A quick flick of Namjoon's hand signals the plan, and Jungkook gives a sharp nod. He balls his fist and slams them hard against the door, the echo booming down the hall. All of you freeze, tense, weapons shifting in your hands as you wait.

Nothing. No shuffle. No groan. no dragging of feet. Just silence.

The emptiness is worse than any sound—it feels wrong.

Namjoon grips the knob, twisting hard, but it doesn't give. Locked. He curses under his breath and yanks at it again, rattling the frame. The clatter ricochets off the walls, far too loud.

Then, a sound.

A faint drag... shuffle... from somewhere down the right hall. Another. Then another. The groans begin low, guttural , like they're clawing up from deep in ruined throats.

Namjoon stiffens, voice low but urgent "What th—"

And then you see it a figure staggering into view, it's skin gray and sagging, jaw hanging slack. Behind it two more shuffle out from a classroom doorway. Then another. And another. Within seconds, there's a whole line of them pressing forward, feeling the hallway with the rotten stench and the sound of feet dragging against tile.

"Shit" Jimin hisses, panic edging his tone. "We got to go!"

He takes off, sprinting down the corridor. You follow instantly, every step pounding louder than the last as the moans behind you rise into a terrible chorus. Even though they're slow, they're too many—and they're moving in a wave that eats up the hallway.

Namjoon yells for everyone to keep moving, his rifle snapping up as he fires a single round to drop the closest bitter. The blast is deafening in the confined space, and the echo rolls down the halls like thunder.

Bad mistake.

From the corridor ahead, more shapes begin to emerge. First one. Then three. Then a dozen, blocking the path forward.

Jungkook swings his rifle between the front and back, his voice sharp and filled with disbelief "Where the hell were they hiding?!"

The air is thick with the stench of rot. The dead close in from both directions, slow but unstoppable. The hallway is shrinking with every step, and escape feels like it's slipping through their fingers.

Luckily for you, the hallway you're trapped in branches off into an intersection. Your eyes dart left and right, heart hammering as the dead close in, they're groans echoing through the narrow corridor. Quickly, you make a call. Motioning sharply to the left, you hiss, "This way—come on!"

The group pivots without hesitation, boots pounding against the cracked linoleum as you sprint down the side hall. You'd been through this stretch earlier and remembered the faded sign bolted crookedly to the wall: AUDITORIUM➜. At the time, you barely glanced at it. Now, it might be your only chance.

The hallway feels longer than it should, every step a race against the dragging shuffle and guttural moans growing louder behind you. Your chest burns, but adrenaline keeps your legs pumping. The smell of rot clings heavier in the air the further you go, as if the walls themselves are soaked in decay.

"It might be a trap, it might be empty" you think, but it doesn't matter—the auditorium is big, and big means exits. Exits mean hope.

You wave them forward, leading the charge, Namjoon and Jungkook keeping their rifles aimed back down the corridor in case the dead get too close. Jimin stays on your heels, his pistol trembling in his grip.

The moans swell louder, rolling toward you like a wave, but the dead aren't fast. They're relentless. They follow at their own pace, staggering, arms reaching, Jaws gnashing. Every second you gain now is precious, because once they catch sight, they don't stop. Ever.

The faded double doors of the auditorium finally come into view at the end of the hall. They're tall, splintered with age, but solid. If you can get through them, there's a chance—just maybe—you'll find a way out.

You sprint straight for them, lungs burning, heart hammering in your chest. When you crash into them with your shoulder, the wood doesn't give. Not even an inch. Whether it's stuck, locked, or barricaded, it refuses to budge.

Panic claws up your throat. You shove at the door again and again, your palms stinging against the rough surface. "No, no, no—"the words spill out under your breath, ragged and desperate.

Jungkook is suddenly at your side, his hands brushing lightly against yours, grounding you for just a second. "Hey—hey, what's wrong?" his voice is calm, steady in a way that feels almost impossible given the chaos behind you.

You turn to him, chest heaving. "It's not budging." The words hitch, your breath catching as you fight down the rising tide of panic.

Jungkook presses his lips together, then shouts back to Jimin and Namjoon, "We'll need to force it! All together—on me!"

There's no time to argue. The gutteral moans are swelling, echoing through the corridor, closer with every second. The shadows of staggering bodies stretch longer across the floor as the dead press forward, their arms reaching, they're jaws snapping.

"Now!" Jungkook yells.

All four of you slam your shoulders into the door at once. It groans but holds. Again. And again. By the fourth try, the moans are practically on top of you, the foul stench of rot filling the hallway. A gray, rottening hand reaches forward, fingers swiping the air just a foot away.

On the fifth shove, the door burst inward with a crash, the momentum nearly throwing you off balance. You stumble inside, spinning to help the others drag the heavy door shut. Namjoon shoves hard, and Jimin braces his back against the frame. The door slam closed, cutting off the sight of clawing hands just before they reach you.

The pounding starts almost immediately, fist and body slamming against the wood from the other side. The hinges shudder with the force, and the four of you lean your weight into it until the noise finally settles into dough, mindless thuds.

A collapsed ceiling above the stage brings faint light into the room but other than that darkness swallows the room whole.

For a moment, the only sounds are your gasping breaths. Then, one by one, The faint click of flashlights taped to your weapons slice through the black. Beams of light sweep across the cavernous space, revealing the outline of an auditorium—rows of broken seats, the air thick with dust.

But you're not alone.

Figures shift in the glow, their pale eyes catching the light. Dozens of them, sitting slumped in chairs, sprawled across the aisles, or leaning against the walls—stirring at the sound of an entry. Slowly, unnervingly, their heads begin to turn towards you, jaws falling open as snarls ripple through the silence.

One by one, the dead start to rise.

"Move!"Jungkook's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. He waves you all forward, sprinting across the auditorium as the groans swell around you. The four of you scramble after him, shooting only when a walker lunges too close, the cracks of gunfire echoing painfully off the high walls. Each shot drops one, but more press in to fill the gaps, their moans rising into a horrible chorus.

You make it onto the stage, boots pounding against the warped wooden boards. Behind you, the doors burst open, crashing back against the walls, and more of the dead poor through. Their pale faces bob in the beam of your flashlight, their arms stretching, clawing, pulling them toward you in a slow but unstoppable tide.

"Up there!" Jungkook shouts, pointing to the thick rope hanging down from the rafters, the one used to control the heavy curtains. He doesn't have to say it twice. The second you see it you know—if you don't climb now, you're dead.

Jimin is the first to leap for it, muscles straining as he catches the rope and scrambles upward. His boots kick against the side of the stage until he manages to grab ahold of a black metal bar supporting the old stage lights. He pulls himself up and quickly leans down, reaching to help Jungkook. Jungkook follows fast gripping the rope and hauling himself up hand over hand with a strength born from sheer desperation.

You throw yourself at the rope next, fingers burning as they wrap around the coarse fibers. Jungkook reaches down, steadying you, his grip tight around your wrist as he hauls you upward. Below, the dead press forward and away, crowding the base of the stage, their mouths opening wide as they stretch their arms toward you. The sheer number of them is suffocating—so many that the floor below is nothing but a shifting sea of rotting bodies.

"Shit" Jimin mutters above, glancing across the room. His flashlight beam swings wildly before landing on a shadow doorway across the stage. "There! There's an exit!" He points urgently, the words carrying a thread of hope.

All of you turn, spotting the faint outline of a door on the far side of the catwalk. Between you and it, and narrow steel beam runs straight across the rafters.

Jungkook steadies himself on the bar, glancing back at you with the faintest smirk despite the chaos. "We can crawl... or stand and walk it like a balance beam. Just like when we were kids."

"Kids didn't have a horde waiting to tear them apart if they slipped" Namjoon mutters darkly, eyes looking down to the starling mass below.

Jungkook shrugs, raising his arms low, elbows bent, palms out for balance. "Still looks easy enough". He shifts one foot forward onto the beam, his body tilting slightly as he starts across, the light from his rifle taped flashlight swaying with each careful movement.

You follow Jungkook's lead, inching your way across the narrow being. The door isn't far— maybe only a dozen steps—but with the horde below, it feels like miles. The moans rise louder, echoing through the auditorium, pulling your eyes down despite your better judgment.

Dozens of pale faces stare upward, arms reaching, mouths gaping. They're hunger is so raw, so relentless, that you can almost feel it dragging at your balance.

You forced your gaze back up, focusing on the door ahead. Step by step, you move forward, your knees trembling with every shift of weight. The metal groans under you, the sound sharp in the silence between the growls of the dead. Sweat beads across your forehead, sliding into your eyes, stinging.

Then—your foot slips.

Your body jolts sideways, a scream tearing out of your throat before you can stop it. The beam scrapes your shin as your body drops, but instinct takes over—you throw both hands out and grab one of the black metal bars. Your arms lock tight around it, muscle straining, your legs kicking wildly above the sea of reaching hands.

"Y/n!" Jungkook's voice cracks sharp through the air, full of panic.

Before anyone can react, the beam shudders again. Namjoon, who had been moving carefully just a few steps behind, loses his footing too. His arms pinwheel, a look of sheer horror flashes across his face as the beam tilts slightly under his weight.

"Shit!" He yells, and then he's falling, crashing next to you. The impact rattles your bones, your fingers nearly slipping from the sudden jolt. Namjoon's hands scramble desperately before latching on to the metal, his body swinging dangerously close to the snapping jaws below.

The dead howl louder, clawing up at the two of you. The noise is deafening, a wall of sound that makes your heart hammer harder than the strain in your arms.

"Hold on!" Jimin's voice cuts across the chaos, already moving into position stitching down towards you both Jungkook is beside him in an instant, reaching with one arm while steadying himself with the other.

Your muscles burn, every second heavier than the last, as Namjoon gasps beside you, his grip slipping inch by inch.

The boys eyes are wide with terror, their faces pale in the glow of the flashlight taped to Jimin's gun. "We've got you!" Jungkook shouts, his hands straining down toward yours.

Your arms scream in protest, muscles trembling as your grip begins to slip. A groan escapes your lips, raw with strain, and you make the risky decision to release one hand. The entire weight of your body now hangs from a single arm, tendons burning as you stretch upward, desperate to reach Jungkook's outstretched hand. Your face contorts in pain, sweat dripping down your temple, every second dragging like eternity.

"Come on, y/n! Just a little bit more!" Jungkook urges, his voice sharp but pleading. His fingertips brush yours once—then again—and finally, with a lunge, he catches hold.

Your chest heaves as Jungkook braces himself, carefully hauling you up, inch by inch, balancing you on the thin beam so you don't topple off again. The beam creeks under both your weights, swaying slightly. Below, the sea of walkers thrash and claw, they're snarls rising in a frenzy, desperate for fresh meat dangling just above their reach.

Meanwhile, Jimin has managed to shimmy past Jungkook, lowering himself dangerously toward Namjoon, who clings to the bar with fading strength. His knuckles are bone white, arms shaking violently, every breath a ragged gasp.

"I got you!" Jimin shouts, squatting low and extending his arm as far as it will go.

Namjoon raises his hand, fingers trembling, straining to grasp Jimin's. For a fleeting second, their hands connect, palms slick with sweat, and Jimin locks his grip tight.

"Hold on, hyung! Don't let go!" Jimin cries, his voice cracking under the weight of panic.

Jungkook, cups your cheek with one trembling hand, his eyes scanning you frantically. "Are you okay? Tell me you're okay." His breath is unsteady, his touch grounding, but his fear is written all over his face. He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, a fleeting anchor of reassurance, before spinning towards Jimin to help.

"Jungkook! Help me!" Jimin's voice breaks, strained and desperate. His arms shake as he fights to pull Namjoon upward, his body threatening to topple with the effort.

Jungkook lunges to assist, grabbing Jimin's arm to steady him while reaching down for Namjoon. For a brief, impossible heartbeat, it looks like it's going to work—they almost have him.

But then the metal bar Namjoon is clinging too groans loudly, his grip falters, slick fingers slipping an inch, then another.

"No, no, no—!" Namjoon gasps, his wide eyes locking with yours, filled with fear.

And then—he falls.

The sound is sickening. His body crashes into the swarm below, swallowed instantly by grasping arms and snapping jaws. A deafening chorus of snarls erupts, blood spraying as the dead tear into him, they're hunger drowning out his cries within seconds.

"Namjoon!!" Jimin's scream rips through the air, raw and agonized. He thrushes forward as if to dive after him, but Jungkook seizes him, pulling him back with everything he has. Jimin's face crumbles, tears spilling down his cheeks as he kicks and struggles, fighting the truth.

You freeze, staring down in shock, your stomach hollow, the image of Namjoon's final look seared into your mind. The others are silent, horror etched across their faces, each of them pale as the reality sinks in— one of their own is gone, torn away in the blink of an eye.

The walkers don't stop. They still claw upward, blood dripping from the jaws as if Namjoon's sacrifice wasn't enough to sate them.

And above, all of you stand frozen, breathing heavy, hearts shattered, realizing you have no choice but to keep moving—or his death will be for nothing.

The door slams against the wall with a final, echoing bang, and then silence. A suffocating kind of silence—the kind that presses in on your chest, heavier than the pounding of your own heartbeat. You made it out. But at what cost?

No one speaks as the group stumbles forward, moving like ghost through the shadows until the van comes into view. Relief doesn't even register. Not when grief hangs this heavy.

Jungkook takes the driver's seat without a word, his jaw tight, both hands gripping the wheel like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. Jimin slips into the passenger seat, but the moment he sits down, his composure crumbles. His eyes are swollen red, tears spilling freely down his cheeks, his breath ragged as though each inhale cuts him from the inside. You collapse into the back, sliding to the floor of the van, numb. The vibrations of the engine rattle through your body, but you barely feel them. Shock has a way of hollowing you out, leaving nothing but echoes of what just happened.

Jungkook looks steady compared to the rest of you, his voice even when he tells everyone to hold on as the van jerks onto the road. But you know him. You can see the flicker in his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders. His mind is a storm he's forcing into silence, carrying the weight for everyone else.

The world blurs past outside the windows, but inside the van it's unbearably still. It isn't until Jungkook eases the van onto the main road, the engine humming steady, that the silence finally cracks.

Jimin's voice cuts through, raw and trembling. "Are we not going to talk about it?" his words are jagged, like they were torn from his throat.

The question hangs in the air like smoke. Jungkook's jaw clenches visibly, tendons straining as his hands tighten on the wheel. The faint sound of leather creaking under his grip fills the void.

You notice his reaction before turning to Jimin. Reaching forward, you place your hand gently on Jimin's shoulder, your thumb brushing circles against the tense fabric of his shirt in a quiet attempt at comfort. His shoulders shake beneath your touch, you feel how close he is to breaking again.

You open your mouth, ready to say something—anything—when Jungkook's voice slices through first.

"There's nothing to talk about." his tone is hard, clipped, each word precise like a blade. His eyes stayed fixed on the road. "He's gone."

The finality in his voice makes your chest tighten.

Jimin's head snaps toward him, his face twisting in disbelief. "Nothing to talk about?!" his voice cracks, high and broken, carrying the weight of every ounce of grief he refuses to contain. His hand shoots up to grab yours from his shoulder, clutching it tightly as though grounding himself.

He shakes his head, tears falling fresh. "You can't just—just say it like that, like he was nothing"

You slump back against the cold metal of the van, you're chest heavy as the silence stretches. Suddenly, Jimin's voice raises, raw and trembling. "What do you mean nothing to talk about? He died, Jungkook. Horribly. We could have saved him! We almost had him!" His words spill like open wounds each syllable jagged with guilt and grief. His hands fist in his lap, knuckles white, his whole body shaking as though the weight of Namjoon's death might crush him where he sits.

The van grows unbearably small, the air suffocating. Jungkook's jaw locks, a muscle twitching as he forces his voice out, sharp and unrelenting. "Yeah—almost, Jimin! Almost doesn't mean anything out here!" His tone is harsh, but beneath it lies something cracked, trembling, like glass under strain.

He drags in a breath, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, his voice lowering but no less fierce. "Do you think I wanted to leave him? Do you think I didn't fight with every part of me to pull him back up? But one more second—one more mistake—and it wouldn't just be Namjoon gone. It could've been all of us."

His throat tightens, and for a moment, the mask slips. His voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "He knew he wasn't getting out. That's why he let go."

The van falls into silence again, but it isn't empty. It's crushing, suffocating, filled with the sound of Jimin's muffled sobs and the unspoken truth hanging between them. They made it out, but not all of them.

And Jungkook's hands remain on the wheel, rigid and trembling, as if holding on tight is the only thing keeping him from shattering completely.

The van rattles and sways as it crawls up the dirt path toward base. The massive steel gates rise into view, guarded by men with rifles gripped tightly in their hands. Their expressions are sharp, suspicious, until one of them raises an arm and signals for the gates to creak open.

Jungkook drives through with a tense grip on the wheel, his knuckles pale, and only when the gates clang shut behind the van does he slam the brakes. The sound that echoes louder than it should. He's the first to climb out, movements stiff, almost mechanical. Jimin and you follow close behind, the air of safety feeling heavier than it should be, like a weight instead of a relief.

Familiar faces rush toward you—friends, allies, people who had been waiting and worrying. Taehyung and Hoseok are the first to greet you, their smiles stretching wide in relief at the sight of your return. "Your back" Hoseok breathes, his voice full of warmth. For a moment, the heaviness almost lifts. But then their gazes flicker behind you, counting, searching. Their smiles falter. Confusion sharpens their features when they realize one body is missing.

Their eyes snapped to Jungkook, who stands rooted in place, staring at the ground as though the Earth itself might swallow him whole. His jaw is clenched, shoulders squared, but he doesn't speak. Doesn't look up.

They turn to Jimin, whose eyes are already brimming with tears again. His gaze doesn't meet theirs but instead clings desperately to the horizon where the sun is dipping low, streaking the sky and burning shades of orange and red. The colors blur in his vision as tears threatened to spill, his silence answering louder than words ever could.

Finally, both Taehyung and Hoseok turn to you, the question plain on their faces but unspoken, as if saying it aloud might make it true. Fear lingers in their eyes, fear of the answer they already know but cannot bear to hear.

You hold their gaze, your throat tight, your chest hollow. The weight of it crushes you, but you force yourself to move. Slowly, you shake your head. No words—just that small, devastating motion.

Hoseok's hand flies up to his mouth, trying and failing to muffle the sound of his sobs. His shoulders shake as his chest caves in, the grief ripping through him in quiet, broken burst. Taehyung's lips tremble, his wide eyes glassing over with tears that threaten to spill any second. He looks so young in that moment, fragile in a way that cuts deeper than words ever could.

Your own eyes staying, the weight of the silence pressing down until it's unbearable. Before you realize what you're doing, you step forward, your arms wrapping around both of them, pulling them close in a desperate needed embrace. The contact is all it takes—Taehyung brakes, his body shuddering violently as sobs tear free from his chest. He buries his face into your shoulder, clenching you so tightly it almost hurts, like letting go might mean losing someone else. Hoseok leans in too, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, his tears hot against your skin as he hides there, trembling.

Jimin doesn't hesitate. He steps in quickly, arms circling all of you, whispering words that are more for comfort then sense. His voice cracks with every syllable, but he stays, grounding everyone with his presence as his own tears roll freely down his cheeks.

Then, almost hesitantly, Jungkook approaches. His steps are slow, heavy, like each one takes everything out of him. For a moment, it seems like he might stop, might keep his distance, but then he closes the gap. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and Taehyung, his chest pressing to your back. His head lowers until it rests on top of yours, hiding his face from the others.

No one can see the tears he's finally allowing to fall, but you feel the tremors in his frame, the uneven rhythm of his breathing. The one who always held it together is unraveling quietly in the shadows of the embrace.

Together, all of you cling to one another, a circle of grief and trembling bodies, as the last sliver of sunlight slips beneath the horizon. The world grows darker, colder, and the weight of who is missing feels heavier than ever—yet in that fragile huddle, none of you let go.

It was dark, the kind of silence that only came late at night when everyone was finally asleep in their own small rooms. The faint sound of wind rattled against the cracked window, the world outside as broken and unforgiving as the people inside were trying not to be.

Jungkook sat hunched on the lower edge of the bed, shoulder slumped forward, eyes locked blankly on the wall. The shadows seemed to stretch, swallowing the corners of the room, and yet he couldn't look away. His jaw clenched, muscles twitching with the effort of holding it together. Slowly, he turned his head, gaze drifting toward you. You were curled up on your side of the bed, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, the picture of peace he couldn't grasp for himself.

For a moment, his lips parted as if he might whisper your name, wake you, confess everything clawing inside his chest. But the thought withered. Instead, he turned away sharply, shoulders trembling as a muffled sniffle escaped him. His throat tightened. The silence pressed in heavier, so loud it was deafening.

What happened replayed over and over, each memory flashing like a knife behind his eyes. So many what ifs. What if they had all made it back? What if you had fallen? What if it was just you? What if Namjoon hadn't gone, or if another group had taken your guys's place? His thoughts tangled, suffocating him, pounding against his skull like a relentless drum.

He squeezed his eyes shut so hard stars burst behind his lids, his hands clawing into his hair as though he could rip the thoughts straight out of his head. His breath hitched, breaking into uneven stutters. The harder he tried to slow it, the faster it came, until his chest was heaving and sharp, ragged bursts. His ribs ache, his lungs burned, but the air refused to fill them no matter how desperately he gasped.

His body shook violently, shoulders jerking with every shallow inhale. The edges of his vision blurred, black creeping in, the room spinning like it was tilting under him. His hands trembled uncontrollably, fist curling against his temples before dropping uselessly to his lab.

A strangled sound tore from his throat—half sub, half gasp—as his pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard it felt like it might tear out. His skin prickled with heat and cold all at once, sweat beading at his hairline while his body went numb.

He bent forward until his forehead pressed against his knees, desperate to curl in on himself, to make it all stop. But the panic only surged higher, pressing down like a weight on his chest, squeezing until every breath felt like it could be his last.

The bed shifted beneath you, faint tremors pulling you from the depths of sleep. At first, you thought it was just a dream. But then the sound reached you—ragged, uneven gasps, like someone drowning right beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open to the dimly lit room adjusting just enough to make out Jungkook's trembling silhouette on the edge of the bed. His back was hunched forward, arms wrapped around himself, his breath stuttering so violently it sounded painful.

"Jungkook?" Your voice came out soft, still thick with sleep, but laced with alarm.

He flinched at the sound, his head snapping slightly as if he hadn't realized you were awake. His wide eyes glistened in the faint light, pupils blown with panic, chest heaving as though he couldn't catch his breath.

Without hesitation, you sat up and reached for him, gently prying one of his shaking hands from his hair and leasing your fingers through his. His skin was ice—cold and clammy, trembling under your touch.

"Hey, hey, look at me" you whispered, scooting closer until your knee brushed against his. "You're okay. I've got you."

But he was unraveling, spiraling fast. His chest heaved, words stumbling out between ragged breaths. "I should've... I should've done more. I should've saved him. If I was faster—" his voice cracked mid-sentence, choked with guilt. "Why wasn't it me? Why wasn't it me instead of him?"

The words hit like shards of glass. He bent forward, gasping as if the weight of them was physically crushing his chest. His whole body trembled violently, sobs tearing through him, and you realized—he was drowning in a full panic attack.

"Jungkook" you said firmly, pressing your forehead to his so he couldn't look away. "You were here. Right now. With me. I need you to breathe with me, okay? Just with me. In... Slow... In through your nose." You exaggerated along inhale, holding his gaze until his own shaky lungs try to follow. "Now out... Let it go."

He tried—gosh, he tried—but halfway out, it hitched and broke. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can" you whispered fiercely, gripping his hands tight between yours. "You're not alone. I'm right here. You're safe. Just with me. I've got you."

Tears stream down his face as he forced another inhale, broken but closer to steady this time. You guided him through again, and again, until his ragged gasps slow to trembling exhales. His sobs softened into hiccups, his body collapsing against yours as though he couldn't hold himself up any longer.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, sobbing so hard it shook both of you. "I thought I lost you" he whispered hoarsely, his words muffled against your skin. "I keep seeing it—over and over—I thought you were gone. I don't know what I'd do if you didn't make it back. I can't-" his voice broke, raw and desperate. "I can't lose you too."

Your own eyes stung, but you held him tighter, rubbing slow, steady circles into his back. "You won't" you murmured, pressing your lips to his temple. "I'm here. I'm alive. We made it back together, Jungkook. You don't have to keep reliving it. You don't have to carry this alone."

He clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth, arms locked around your waist. You kissed the damp skin of his cheek, then his jaw, gentle reassurances pressed into every touch.

"I love you" you whispered softly, catching his chin and pressing your lips to his—just a fleeting kiss, tender and grounding. Enough to remind him he wasn't lost in the past. He was here. With you.

When you pulled back, his breathing had steadied, though his face was streaked with tears. Exhaustion clung to him now, heavy and pulling. You guided him down into the bed, wrapping yourself around him. His arms tightened instinctively, his face still buried against your chest.

Little by little, the tension bled out of his body, his breaths evening into the rhythm of sleep. You brushed one last kiss across his hair, whispering a quiet promise only he could hear.

"I'll hold you through everything, Kook. Always."

And with that, the two of you finally drifted off, tangled together, his panic silenced by the safety of your arms.

rerefundslocals

Might need a part 2😔🙏🏾

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #zombie apocalypse

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