Chapter Text
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Everybody knows Camp Big Hive is where senior high schoolers go to test their mettle, while mastering the three core skills for a successful adulthood: logistics, negotiation, and execution.
Which, in non-bullshit terms, just means—
(1) calculating the precise window of opportunity between “lights out” and the school nurse’s mandatory lecture on safe sex, which absolutely nobody listens to, except for that one kid who takes notes, raises his hand to ask deeply unnecessary questions, and singlehandedly makes the whole room viscerally aware of their own genitals;
(2) convincing a counselor that you were definitely not sneaking off to do something immoral and irresponsible, because, duh, you’re responsible enough to bring a condom you swiped out of your friend’s wallet, and definitely not immoral enough to attempt item #57 of that smuggled Cosmos Presents: The 69 Most Mind-Blowing Sex Moves to Make Your Partner Scream and Come on the Spot special uncensored edition; and
(3) mapping out the exact route to the lake house (aka, The House of Boners) while dodging random scavenger hunts, trust falls, and whatever pointless team-building exercise involves blindfolds and ropes, which, quite honestly, is how some people prefer to be introduced to adulthood anyway.
Because at Camp Big Hive, it’s not just about scoring hits and trading V-cards like summer souvenirs. It’s about strategy. The kind of high-stakes maneuvering that separates the legends from the losers.
But most importantly, it’s a test of endurance, a masterclass in manipulation, and a crash course in the kind of paranoid overplanning that only truly unhinged doomsday preppers can relate to—
This is exactly why Park Jimin is still a virgin.
I
Park Jiminie’s List of 6 Unreasonable Things Before Breakfast
1. Time is irrelevant. My shift started at 4 AM. FOUR. AM. YESTERDAY. This is no longer a shift, it’s a hostage situation. It should be illegal. If scientists can grow human ears on mice, then why can’t Dr. Min grow a conscience and find someone else to chain to this godforsaken desk?
2. The hospital is out of coffee. The break rooms. The lounges. The vending machines. The whole damn building! Bone dry! How the fuck does an entire hospital run out of coffee?! Yeonhwa General is now officially a hostile work environment.
3. The frequent flyer in Bed 3 has been groaning dramatically for an hour. Not in pain. Not in distress. Just groaning. He insists he’s dying. We all know he’s not. He’s just an attention-seeking little bitch.
4. My stomach is staging an all-out revolt. If I pass out on the floor, I hope Hobi-hyung sues the vending machine and spanks Dr. Min’s ass so hard, he’ll be sneezing farts and farting sneezes for weeks.
5. Yeonhwa may be decaffeinated, but at least, no one’s getting stuck on the way out (okay, that was bad). A clerical error blessed this place with 10,000 tubes of surgical lubricants, sending Dr. Min into a full-hour meltdown that spared no one. Which, honestly, was excessive. Everyone’s already dead on their feet. Too much lube won’t kill. Might even save a life. Seriously, how bad could it be—
The emergency doors hiss open with the kind of urgency that makes everything else freeze.
Except for Jimin’s pen, which jerks violently across his notepad, carving a long, accusing slash of ink in the middle of his list.
A police officer stands in the doorway, chest heaving like he ran the whole way here.
“I need a wheelchair!” he bellows, voice thick with the kind of authority that makes people scramble first and think later.
And suddenly, wheelchairs. So many fucking wheelchairs. They come rushing toward the door like some kind of medical emergency flash mob.
Jimin, sleep-deprived, uncaffeinated, and dangerously close to astral projecting to the sun, just blinks at the chaos like a buffering video, until his brain coughs up the inconvenient truth that he is, in fact, the emergency nurse on duty.
Damn it.
Jimin moves on autopilot. Muscle memory kicking in before his brain fully catches up. He grabs his stethoscope, hooks it around his neck, and takes off after the officer.
"Prep a bed, now!" he calls over his shoulder.
And just in time too, before his cheek smacks into something soft.
No, not soft.
Fleshy.
Jimin recoils just as a deep, agonized groan fills the space.
"Watch the ass!"
His brain lags. His soul temporarily leaves his body. But the horrifying realization slams into him faster than his face just slammed into—
Oh, God. OH. MY. GOD.
Heat floods his face so fast, he’s surprised it doesn’t set off the hospital’s fire alarms.
The patient, currently draped over the officer’s shoulder in what can only be described as an undignified sack of potatoes situation, shifts with a pained hiss.
His ass twitches in distress beneath the folds of a loosely wrapped blanket.
Because yes, that is absolutely what Jimin’s face made direct and unavoidable contact with.
Jimin makes a sound, something caught between a strangled gasp and a hiccup. His dignity is in freefall.
But he is a professional, damn it! He has a job to do.
“Gosh! I'm sorry!” he sputters, forcing his hands to move, to not linger on the fact that his face just got intimate with some poor bastard’s undoubtedly sore hiney.
But he barely gets another syllable out before his gaze snags on the officer, who has been staring at him this entire time.
Not just staring. But frozen, slack-jawed. Like his brain has completely crashed. Flatlined. Can’t quite figure out what to do with itself.
Jimin blinks. The officer blinks.
Oh, hell no!
The realization doesn’t just hit Jimin. It flattens him.
Like a cartoon anvil dropping straight onto his chest.
Not this guy! Oh, god! Not this guy again!
Jimin’s mouth goes dry. His stomach does an Olympic-level somersault. The kind where you stick the landing and immediately puke into a trash bin.
But before the memories can fully detonate in his brain, the patient lets out a groggy, miserable whine.
"Jungkookah…" he slurs, voice thick with exhaustion. Or pain. Or just the sheer indignity of being hauled around like a sack of tragic produce. "If I knew you were gonna carry me like this, you should’ve just put me on the chair.”
“You didn’t wanna sit on the chair, hyung.” Jungkook quips back, thoroughly unimpressed. “What was I supposed to do?”
"Well, excuse me for not wanting to ruin my handsome ass even more!" the patient huffs, voice pitched somewhere between tragic prince and pissed-off housecat.
Jungkook sighs, rolling his eyes. “I did warn you. And your ass is definitely not handsome.”
Jimin’s never put much thought into handsome asses.
But Jeon Jungkook in uniform?
That’s a problem.
The kind of problem that should come with a warning label.
Even with his hair a tousled mess, like he’s been running on fumes and city pavements all night, he looks unfairly good.
Too sharp. Too put together. Too damn in control.
His patrol shirt clings in places that make Jimin’s fingers twitch with phantom memory.
The utility belt sits heavy on his hips, framing a waist Jimin knows would flex just right against his palms.
And he should not be thinking about how those tactical pants are doing the bare minimum of hiding—
Jimin yanks the emergency brake on that thought so hard he nearly faceplants into Jungkook’s chest.
Fuck.
Focus.
He’s here to work. Not to appreciate how unfairly well Jeon Jungkook wears authority.
Good thing another nurse has the presence of mind to roll in a gurney at that exact moment.
Jimin clears his throat, forcing his gaze up. “What happened?”
The patient lets out a dramatic whimper before Jungkook can open his mouth. “My ass is so soooo~re…!”
Jimin frowns as his sleep-deprived, coffee-starved head starts piecing things together—
Naked man wrapped in a blanket with a sore ass.
Slung like a sack of sin on Jeon Jungkook’s shoulder.
Jimin’s gaze flickers back down the line of Jungkook’s hips before he catches himself. Stops. And swallows hard, heat flooding his throat.
"It wasn’t me."
Jimin’s eyes snap back up. Jungkook is grinning. The teasing lilt in his voice makes it worse.
"I wasn’t asking, Officer Jeon."
"You were judging."
"Well, your reputation does precede you."
"What have you heard, Nurse Park?" Jungkook taunts back. "That I’m rough, or that I have a big di—"
"Oh, for crying out loud!" The patient groans, cutting him off with all the exasperation of a man who has suffered greatly. "It’s a dildo, okay?! There’s a fucking dildo stuck in my ass!"
Jimin nearly curses.
The entire ER takes a collective, stunned pause.
Then starts bristling with reactions.
A lot of flinching. A lot of coughing into fists. Some faint giggling. And about half a dozen whispered, “Hail Mary’s.”
Jimin’s own soul is trying to exit his body again. He anchors himself on his clipboard.
"Jin-hyung!" Jungkook snaps, voice strangled with the urge to erase this moment from existence.
But Jin is well past the point of salvation and sense.
“A dragon dildo!” he blurts out.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Jimin doesn’t even see who lets out the choked wheeze behind him. Maybe a nurse. Maybe God himself. But the reaction sends a ripple through the room.
Someone snorts. Someone gasps. A couple of prehistoric machines beep in disapproval.
Jungkook himself visibly malfunctions.
His face creases at the corners. Mouth twitching like it wants to form a response. But his brain has just been nuked.
“Huge… thick… incredibly… ridged… dragon—”
"Jesus, shut up!" Jungkook hisses, looking deeply unwell.
"It’s all this blood in my head, Jungkookah…” Jin whimpers. “I think I’m gonna pass out…"
Jungkook looks like he wants to pass out himself.
Even Jimin, a medical professional, struggles to keep a straight face.
His mouth twitches. An eye twitches. But his training is stronger.
His voice stays calm. Detached. Like he’s discussing a routine case of hemorrhoids, instead of a medieval-grade dragon dildo lodged in a patient’s ass.
“His head’s been upside down too long,” Jimin mutters, tugging the gurney closer. “He’s not kidding.”
Jungkook releases the bed rail and lowers it himself without being told.
Jimin doesn’t even bother looking at him. “Lower the patient, Officer. Gently, please.”
Judging by the way he’s slurring, this guy’s one wrong breath away from blacking out completely.
And if they don’t stabilize him soon, they’ll be dealing with an unconscious patient, a dildo obstruction, and whatever fresh hell comes with trying to explain both to Dr. Min.
Jungkook, to his credit, moves fast. Readjusting his hold. Bending slightly at the knees to ease Jin down.
Except Jin’s ass hits the gurney first. Hard.
"Fuck! My ass! My ass!"
The scream is unholy.
A full-body exorcism of pain that ricochets off the walls like an emergency siren made purely of human suffering.
At least three nurses flinch.
A very distressed elderly man in the corner mutters a silent prayer.
Jungkook freezes, arms still half-outstretched like he knows he just made everything so much worse but has no idea how to fix it.
Jimin, exhausted, exasperated, and questioning his entire career, drags a hand down his face.
"Pull the rail back up. Turn him to his side. Left. Be careful, dammit—sorry. I’m sorry."
With Jungkook standing there like a guilty golden retriever waiting for orders, Jimin and the other nurse take control.
They brace Jin’s shoulders while Jungkook takes his legs.
Because, God forbid he be responsible for anything near Jin’s ass again.
Together, they shift him onto his side. Slow and controlled until he’s settled.
Jimin tucks a pillow under his hip, just enough to ease the pressure.
Jin groans through it all. Whining like a man on the verge of suing the entire medical profession.
But thankfully, he's too groggy to form anything coherent beyond the occasional, “Oh, fuck me!”
Jimin sighs. "Let's move."
They wheel Jin into an exam bay, the overhead lights casting an unflattering hospital glow on this absolute tragedy of a situation.
Jungkook, as expected, tries to follow. But Jimin catches him square in the chest, stopping him cold at the entrance.
"Uh-uh. No cops allowed beyond this point."
Jungkook blinks, like the concept of rules personally offends him. “I’m his emergency contact.”
Jimin scowls. “You’re his emergency cause.”
Jungkook gapes. “I already told you it wasn’t me.”
“Surely that dildo didn’t just slither up his ass all by itself—”
“Well, yeah, genius! He shoved it in there himself!”
“For fuck’s sake…!” Jin slurs, his voice a lethal cocktail of exhaustion and barely-contained murder. “Why don’t you two just grab the hospital intercom and broadcast it to the entire building? Maybe let the second floor in on it, too, huh? Let’s make sure this whole fucking place knows about the idiot with a dragon dildo up his ass!”
Jungkook cringes, ears turning red.
Jimin, completely unaffected, just lifts a brow and reaches for the curtain.
"Don't worry, Officer Jeon. We'll be gentle with your friend. Something you’re obviously not capable of."
"Of course, you would know, Nurse Park,” Jungkook, quick as a whip, shoots back, smirking. “I did make you scream once, didn’t I?"
Jimin gasps. Loud, offended, scandalized.
Behind him, the other nurse clears his throat like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Fuck. Off.” Jimin snarls, before yanking the curtain shut with violent precision, enough to send the startled officer stumbling back, arms flailing, like the sheer force of Jimin’s disgust physically repelled him.
Jimin smirks.
Petty? Absolutely.
Satisfying? Most definitely.
"You two seriously need to get a room,” Jin groans.
6. Jeon Fucking Jungkook. No explanation needed.