akshstudios

[akshstudios]

The Lily Of Bangtan | Kim Namjoon

Chapter Five of The Lily of Bangtan can be found here 💜

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[akshstudios]

The Lily Of Bangtan | Kim Namjoon

—pairing | rm × you (fem!reader)

—chapter five | the union of souls: a day to remember and forever begins

—genre | mafia au × arranged marriage au × strangers to lovers au × best friend’s brother au [ angst × romance × smut ]

—series | matters of the heart in the mafia

—story masterlist | the lily of bangtan

—previous chapter | chapter four

—rating | mature-rated

—wordcount | 10.7k

—warnings | trying to be dark and angsty. lots of bangtan traditions. arranged marriage. english not my first language. noob writer, experienced daydreamer.

—author's forenote | smut will be next chapter, i didn't realise a wedding of my fantasy would take over 10k words, so sorry to disappoint but smut is next chapter, but good news is that its written and scheduled to go up soon. this chapter is a bit extensive with how much i have explained stuff, but i like daydreaming about minute details like these. so, please indulge me.

—chapter summary | the day of the wedding, the night and all the bells and whistles of a traditional bangtan wedding.

The morning of your wedding begins before your eyes are even fully open. You're roused from sleep and promptly ushered into the whirlwind of preparations. After freshening up, you settle into a chair, wrapped in a soft robe, as the stylists begin their meticulous work. The quiet hum of their chatter blends with the soft music playing in the background, while the steady clicks of the photographer’s camera document every moment.

Your mind is a tangled mess of thoughts as you sip on a smoothie —anything heavier feels impossible to stomach. The stylists keep reminding you not to drift off, but the weight of anticipation keeps you wide awake. The butterflies in your stomach flutter relentlessly, a mix of nerves and excitement.

Your mother’s absence isn’t surprising. Your father, on the other hand, has been kept away at the photographers’ request, allowing for a ‘first look’ moment later. Truthfully, you prefer it this way —you know you’ll tear up the second you see him.

“Are you nervous?” the makeup artist asks, noticing the way your fingers fumble with the tie of your robe.

“Yeah,” You admit, but you leave it at that.

There's too much on your mind, too many emotions swirling inside you. Namjoon's words and actions from last night should have eased your nerves, and yet, they haven’t —not entirely. Maybe it’s the weight of the traditions looming over the next 24 hours, each one an expectation you must fulfil. Among them, the consummation of the marriage lingers at the forefront of your thoughts. A shiver runs down your spine —not just from anxiety, but something else. As your mind flickers between apprehension and desire, you exhale, bracing yourself for the day ahead.

“Mo-mo,” You hear Hwan's voice. Your mood is instantly a little better as your hear the boy’s sunshine voice, you turn around startling the makeup artist a little, greeting him as he runs to you in his red suit.

“Boo-boo!” You cheer, picking him up to place him on your lap, “You look so handsome!” You squeeze his cheeks, attacking him with kisses, as the adorable boy giggles loudly.

“Hwanie?” You hear Jangmi’s excited voice and you roll your eyes as you hear her heels click against the floor as she practically runs to you, “You look so handsome!” She pulls the boy away from your lap, perching him on her hips, “Did you miss me?” She asks, and much to her betrayal, Hwan says no, giggling loudly at her betrayed face.

You join in the laughter, “Give him to me,” You pull him into your lap again, “Who bought you this, Hwanie?” You asked, fixing his little coat.

“Googie samchun,” Hwan said, jumping down to the floor and twirling to show off his little suit, “It's nice, right?” You nod, chuckling at him.

“Suits you,” You press yet another kiss on his cheek.

“He couldn't have chosen a much more attention-grabbing suit, right?” Jangmi laughs, bending down to hug and lift the boy up in her arms. “But it suits you, Hwan-ie.” She kisses his chubby cheeks.

“Where's your Omma?” you ask, scanning the room for Saera. 

“I'm right here,” Her cheerful voice comes, and you barely have time to turn before she pulls you into a warm hug. 

“Did you really think I’d miss the honour of attending the next Don and Madam’s wedding?” She teases, squeezing you lightly. 

“You mean you wouldn’t dare miss your Namu’s wedding,” You counter, jutting out your lower lip in a rare pout —something utterly uncharacteristic of you at twenty-five. “I know you have favourites,” You add, shooting her a mock glare. “And it’s not me.” 

 “Hey, that’s my baby brother!” Saera laughs shamelessly. “Of course, he’s my favourite.” 

“Wow,” Jangmi interjects, clutching her chest like she’s just been mortally wounded. “So, I’m just the spare, I guess.” 

Saera grins, offering a sliver of hope before swiftly yanking it away. “No,” she muses, pausing just long enough for dramatic effect. “You're my third favourite.”

“Bloody Jungkook is the second, isn’t he?!”

“Are you wearing lingerie under that robe?” Saera asked, her voice laced with playful mischief.

Jangmi giggled, nodding furiously in agreement. Earlier, she had whistled when you'd adjusted your robe, catching a glimpse of the delicate white lace beneath. You had shot her a glare and reminded her that it was forher brother, to which she’d dramatically gagged before promptly shutting up.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you closed your eyes, hoping to salvage at least some dignity. “It's tradition to wear something pretty for the husband,” You mumbled, willing the conversation to move on.

“I know,” Saera teased, her giggle full of amusement. “And you wear garters for the husband too.”

“Garters?!” you screeched, eyes flying open. “I didn’t know we had a garter tradition! I've never seen—”

“Oh, we definitely do,” Saera interrupted, smugly folding her arms. “It's just a private tradition —one not meant for an audience. The garter is part of your lingerie, and your husband gets to remove it himself later that night.” She even had the audacity to drop you a wink.

“Yet another gift for the husband.” Jangmi scoffed, rolling her eyes, but hummed in agreement a second later. “Adds to the moment, I suppose.” Jangmi and Saera giggled again, and you fought the sudden urge to shove them straight off the balcony.

“You do realize I'll return this torture in full on your wedding day, right?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at her. “When you marry Taehyung, I will have my revenge.” Jangmi stuck out her tongue before darting behind Saera as you lunged forward, her laughter ringing through the room.

“Yah, settle down,” Saera chided, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don't get yourself hurt. Namjoon will want you in one piece.”

You rolled your eyes but relented, sinking back into your seat. Saera smiled approvingly before producing a velvet box and placing it in your hands. “Wear the garter. And your heels. Omma asked the staff to bring the dress —she’ll be here soon.”

Lifting the lid, you found the garter nestled inside, a delicate creation of white lace adorned with shimmering blue sequins and a silky blue bow. It was intricate yet elegant —subtle, but undeniably alluring. You nodded wordlessly, slipping the garter over your thigh, the soft lace feeling cool against your skin.

Jangmi reappeared beside you, holding out your shoes. “And here’s your torture for the day,” she smirked.

The heels had been custom-made for the wedding —designed with comfort in mind, knowing you’d be wearing them from morning until night. The thick, supportive block heels ensured stability, while the elegant straps wrapped securely around your ankles, promising a perfect fit. The craftsmanship was exquisite —baroque-like details etched into the golden embellishments, adding a regal touch. Despite their height, they were surprisingly light, making movement effortless. You slipped them on, fastening the buckles as the pieces of your bridal attire was slowly coming together.

The moment you slipped your feet into the towering heels, you wobbled, the unexpected height throwing you off balance. Your stomach flipped as the ground felt farther away than usual. Jangmi and Saera both rushed forward, hands outstretched to steady you, but you quickly lifted a hand to stop them, catching yourself before they could.

“I'm good,” you muttered, exhaling sharply.

Saera arched a brow. “Barely.”

Jangmi giggled. “We should tie you to oppa before the wedding so you don't trip at the altar.”

You shot her a glare but didn't respond, instead turning towards the large mirror. You had barely looked at yourself since this morning, too distracted by the constant rush of preparations, too focused on following instructions, listening to Saera and Jangmi’s playful banter —just like old times, after they had sent Hwan away with Jungkook and Taehyung.

Now, as you finally took yourself in, your breath caught.

Your makeup was soft, elegant —ethereal. Shimmering eyeshadow caught the light every time you blinked, a gentle glow dusted your cheeks, and your lips had just the right tint of colour to look effortlessly perfect. Your hair had been curled and styled into a bun —it was arranged meticulously, structured yet romantic, designed to accommodate the tiara.

Your fingers trembled as you reached up to lightly touch the heirloom.

The tiara was stunning —massive diamonds and pearls intricately woven together to form a halo-like design. A Kim family treasure, it had first been crafted for the very first Madam, a symbol of power and legacy. Only eight women before you had worn it, including the current Madam and Saera herself. It was over six generations old.

And now, it was yours to wear.

You swallowed.

“You should put on the blindfold now,” Jangmi said suddenly, breaking your trance. She pulled a sleep mask out, holding it up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Let’s hope this is secure enough, and you don’t catch a peek of the dress before time.”

You frowned. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s tradition,” Saera and Jangmi chimed in unison, their synchronized answer almost eerie.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, but took the mask and slipped it over your eyes.

You hadn’t seen your wedding dress yet. It was a long-standing Kim family tradition for the mother-in-law to choose the bride’s gown —a custom meant to symbolize acceptance into the family, though to you, it felt more like a test of blind faith.

A part of you had been disappointed at first, longing for the experience of selecting your own dress, of running your fingers over delicate lace and shimmering silks, of deciding for yourself that you would wear on one of the most important days of your life. But you knew better than to dwell on it. Madam Kim was nothing if not extravagant, and despite her simpler nature, she had impeccable taste. You trusted that she would choose something fitting of her son’s bride. Besides, Jangmi had assured you, more than once, that if her mother dared to pick an ugly dress, she’d personally set it on fire.

You had tried it on a few times, of course —blindfolded, another tradition meant to preserve its sanctity until the big day. Each fitting had been a strange, almost surreal experience. Standing still as seamstresses flitted around you, their fingers adjusting fabric and pinning lace, you had felt the weight of the gown, the soft rustle of its skirts, the gentle tug of a corset being tightened just right. It was heavy, luxurious, something undoubtedly designed to make a statement.

But what did it look like? Was it sleek and regal, or romantic and flowing? Were there pearls stitched into the bodice? Embroidered roses trailing down the train? You could only imagine, left to build a vision from the fleeting sensations of silk against your skin and the whispered compliments of the women around you.

Soon, the blindfold would come off. Soon, you would see yourself as a Kim bride.

“The dress is here,” Saera announced.

The sound of wheels rolling in filled the room as staff carefully brought in the dress stand. There was a rustling of fabric, the low murmurs of the assistants working swiftly, and the occasional sharp inhale from Jangmi —undoubtedly reacting to the sight of the gown.

You, however, saw nothing. Instead, you felt.

The next several minutes passed in a flurry of movement. The weight of the fabric as it was draped over your body, the soft whisper of the material against your skin. The careful slide of sleeves over your wrists, the structured bodice fitting snugly against your frame, the gentle tug as they fastened the gown in place. You reached out blindly, fingertips grazing the textured embroidery, the intricate beading —trying to imagine how it looked.

You couldn’t tell much, but knowing the Kims, it would be a statement piece for sure.

Finally, they stepped back, their hands leaving you.

A moment of silence settled. Then, Saera spoke. “Perfect,” she murmured, voice full of something unreadable. There was a pause before she called out, “Go get Omma.”

You shifted slightly, fingers twitching against the fabric of your dress. The anticipation was unbearable. Then, Saera's hands found your shoulders. She turned you gently, repositioning you to face where you thought the mirror should be. Her voice was softer this time, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the moment.

“You can take off the mask now.” You hesitated for half a second before lifting the blindfold.

And when you finally saw yourself —you almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at you. You exhaled, pressing your hands to your lap to steady yourself. It was really happening.

Your breath hitched.

The dress —your dress was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

The bodice was sheer perfection, sculpted to your figure like it had been crafted just for you. Delicate illusion sleeves clung to your arms, barely there yet impossibly stunning, an extension of your own skin. Pearls and crystals cascaded across your collarbones like stars scattered across the midnight sky, shimmering with every breath, every movement. They trailed down your shoulders, tracing elegant patterns along your arms, wrapping around your wrists like fine jewellery.

The sweetheart neckline was graceful yet bold, accentuating your neckline with a regal softness. The sheer fabric at the back was adorned with the same delicate embellishments, creating the illusion that the pearls and crystals were floating over your skin. Then, there was the skirt.

The moment your gaze dropped; your breath left you entirely.

It was magnificent. Layers upon layers of the softest, most ethereal fabric pooled around you, forming an A-line silhouette that was both grand and weightless. The skirt was full, poofy—but not overwhelming. It moved like liquid moonlight, each fold catching the light, each gentle sway exuding effortless grace.

And the train –long and regal. It billowed behind you in a cloud of opulence, embroidered with subtle floral patterns that glimmered under the lights. Tiny, hand-sewn pearls dusted the hem like morning dew, a final, exquisite touch to an already breathtaking masterpiece.

You didn’t even realize you had been holding your breath until you exhaled shakily.

“Holy shit.” Jangmi let out a dramatic gasp. “You look beautiful!”

You swallowed thickly, your fingers brushing against the sleeves, the beading, the skirt —feeling every inch of the craftsmanship, the details, the weight of history and tradition stitched into its seams.

This wasn’t just a dress.

It was a crown —a crown fit for the Bangtan’s Madam and you were wearing it.

“I look… beautiful.” You say, utterly mesmerized with yourself. You twirl around, loving the way the train followed you.

“Beautiful is a small word for you, right now,” Saera smiles, looking proudly at you, “Namjoon is gonna be on his knees when he sees you, I swear.”

You giggle excitedly because, yeah —today, you could have any man on his knees praying for you, worshipping you.

“Omo!” You hear your mother-in-law, the Madam’s voice ring through the room. You grin and give her a bright smile, “Oh my god! You look absolutely divine, my darling! Namu is a lucky boy!”

“Thank you, ommo-nim!” You let her give you a hug, flushing when she holds both of your hands and tears up.

“I can’t believe this day has finally come,” She sniffles, “You have grown up so fast and so beautiful,” She lets go of your hand, wipes her tears, “I can’t wait to watch you have a family and grow to be an amazing woman I know you can be!”

“She is already an amazing woman, Omma,” Jangmi rolled her eyes at her mum, “Oppa—”

“I know that, you brat.” Madam Kim shot a dirty look, though cracking a smile as Jangmi giggled at being called a brat. “I am just so excited to see what life holds for them in the future,”

"Are you about to give another lecture?" Saera asked, eyeing him with suspicion. "You did the same thing while putting on my veil."

"Do I seem like someone who lectures all the time?"

"Yes." Saera and Jangmi nodded in perfect unison; their expressions solemn. You giggle, and the Madam shot them a glare, and turned to you.

“Did you not wear your earrings yet, sweetie?” Madam Kim asked, suddenly noticing that your ears were bare. Your eyes widen slightly, as you make an apologetic face.

“Almost forgot,” You smile abashedly, “Let me wear them right away.”

“Let me, honey.” Your mother-in-law said, thanking Saera as she brought forward your box of accessories.

You bent down a little to help her reach your ears, feeling oddly emotional at the care she was showing as she meticulously helped your put on your simple pearl and diamond earrings.

“All that is left is a veil,” Madam spoke again, “Bring the veil,” She instructed and Seara brought in a long veil.

The veil is soft between Madam Kim’s fingers, a delicate piece of lace, tulle and embroidery, its weight light in her hands but heavy with history. Generations of Bangtan brides have worn it before, each one stepping into a marriage bound not only by love but by duty, by power, by a world that does not forgive the weak.

As she lifts it, her movements are slow, reverent —like she’s not just placing fabric over your head, but bestowing something far greater; something weighty with meaning.

She adjusts the veil, stepping back to admire her work, before reaching for your hands. Her palms are warm, her grip firm but comforting. When she speaks, her voice is gentle, but there is steel beneath it.

“Nari,” she begins, eyes searching your face, as if memorizing this moment, “Marriage is… a lot of things. It’s love, yes, but love is not always enough. Love is easy in the beginning —when everything is new, when the world feels like it belongs to just the two of you. But love alone won’t carry you through the years.”

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles, her expression turning solemn.

“You will have to be forgiving. Not just once, not just when it’s easy, but over and over again. Some days, you will wake up and feel like Namjoon doesn’t understand you. Some days, you will feel like he is pulling away, or that the weight of his responsibilities is greater than the space he has left for you. And you… you will have to choose patience. You will have to remind yourself why you chose him in the first place.”

She squeezes your hands gently, but there is an unspoken warning in her words.

“You are marrying into a world that demands everything from its men. You are marrying a man who carries the world on his shoulders. There will be days when he comes home with blood on his hands —sometimes his own, sometimes others’. There will be nights when he cannot tell you where he has been or what he has done. And there will be moments when you will wonder if the man standing beside you is the same one you vowed yourself to.”

You swallow hard, your heart beating fast.

“But listen to me, my love,” Madam Kim continues, her voice unwavering. “You must never let this life make you bitter. Do not let silence build walls between you. Do not let anger turn to resentment. Be his peace, not his war.”

Her words settle deep, pressing into the spaces of your heart that are already bracing for what is to come.

“There will be fights,” She says, her mouth curling into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, there will be fights. He will frustrate you. He will shut you out. He will think that by keeping you in the dark, he is protecting you. And you… you will want to break him for it.” She exhales, shaking her head slightly. “But you must learn to forgive. To love him even when he makes it hard. To remind him, every single day, that he is not alone in this life. That he is not just a leader, or a soldier, or a man carrying the weight of an empire —he is your husband.”

Your throat tightens, vision blurring for just a moment. Madam Kim reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the same way a mother would.

“Most of all, Nari… never stop choosing each other. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Because at the end of the day, love is not just a feeling —it is a decision. And every day, you must wake up and decide that no matter what, you will not give up on each other.”

She blinks rapidly, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a quiet laugh. “Aigoo, look at me, getting sentimental.”

You shake your head, blinking back your tears as you grip Madam Kim’s hands tighter. “No… this means everything to me, ommo-nim.”

In that moment, she became everything your own mother never was, and for the first time, you truly felt that having her as your mother-in-law was a blessing.

Madam Kim smiles, pride and affection shining in her gaze. “Then hold on to it, my sweet girl.”

She steps back, smoothing out the veil one last time, before whispering, “Now, let’s go —there is a husband waiting for you at the altar.”

And with that, she presses a final kiss to your forehead before stepping away, letting the moment settle between you like a promise —one sealed with love, with duty, and with the quiet strength that comes with choosing forever.

The door creaked open, slow and deliberate. The room was quiet except for the rustling of fabric as you adjusted the last details of your dress, smoothing out invisible creases, steadying the breath that had suddenly become shallow in your chest.

Then, you looked up. And there he was.

Your father stood frozen in the doorway, his broad shoulders squared out of habit, but there was something else in his stance —something almost hesitant. As if he were seeing you not just as you were now, but as every version of you he had ever known. The child he carried on his shoulders, the teenager who tested his patience, the woman who now stood before him, ready to step into a new life.

His eyes —those same eyes that had always held quiet strength, softened in a way you had never seen before. His lips parted, as if to say something, but for a moment, words failed him. His gaze drifted over you, taking in every detail. The delicate embroidery of your gown, the way your hair fell in soft waves, the way your hands trembled slightly before you clasped them together.

A slow breath left him, almost unsteady. He blinked once, twice, before finally shaking his head with a quiet chuckle, as if in disbelief.

“You look…” His voice was rough, edged with emotion he wouldn’t fully reveal. He cleared his throat, trying again. “You look beautiful, honey.”

A lump formed in your throat, unexpected but undeniable. Tears pooled in your eyes; your lips lightly trembling as you reached out to him.

He stepped closer, reaching out with careful hands —the same hands that once guided you across the street, that held onto the back of your bicycle, that fixed broken things without ever being asked. He straightened the delicate jewellery at your wrist, smoothed a stray wisp of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Then, he exhaled, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m so proud of you.”

It was soft, but it landed with the weight of a lifetime.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the nerves, not the anticipation, not the photographers clicking pictures, not the ceremony waiting beyond these walls. Just this. Just his first look.

The sleek black limo hummed softly as it cruised through the streets, the golden glow of streetlights flickering across the tinted windows. The weight of your dress pooled around you, heavy against your lap, matching the heaviness in your chest. Your fingers twisted together; knuckles pale with tension.

Beside you, your father shifted, then sighed. As if sensing the unease in your posture, he reached for your hand, covering it with his own. His grip was warm, firm —steadying.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, laced with quiet pride.

You swallowed hard, turning to look at him. His face, lined with age and wisdom, carried something else—something unspoken.

“Are you ready?”

A part of you wanted to shake your head. To tell him no, to beg him to take you back home, back to a time before all of this. But instead, you only exhaled. “I don’t know.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s alright. No one ever really is.”

The words didn’t comfort you.

You hesitated before speaking again. “I know this is what you wanted, but…” Your throat tightened. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I—”

Your father’s grip on your hand tightened, just a fraction. “You’ll make it work.”

Your breath caught.

He turned to face you fully, his expression still gentle, but now edged with something more serious. “Marriage, in our world, is not something you walk away from, honey.” He stroked his thumb over your knuckles, as if bracing you for the weight of his words. “It’s a bond that holds —promise. You don’t get to undo it because it’s hard.”

You blinked, heart hammering.

“But what if—”

He shook his head. “You can visit me whenever you want, my love. My door will always be open to you.” He paused, his voice dropping just slightly. “But it won’t be the same. This is your home now. He is your home. Your place is with him.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. You turned away, staring out the window as the venue came into view, towering and grand, bathed in soft golden lights.

“Will he treat me well?” Your voice was quiet —small.

Your father was silent for a moment, and then, with careful certainty, he said, “He’ll treat you right.”

Not with love. Not with kindness. But right.

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

The limo came to a slow, smooth stop.

Your father let out a slow breath, then cupped your face gently, his rough palm warm against your cheek. “You are strong, sweetheart —stronger than you know. And no matter what happens, you will carry this with grace. Like the women before you.”

A lump rose in your throat. “I don’t want to leave you.”

His gaze softened, but there was something final in the way he looked at you. “You’ll never lose me.” A pause. “But you have to step forward now. Not back.”

The door opened.

With a deep breath, he held out his arm. And, with the weight of inevitability pressing down on you, you took it.

It was time.

The air in the private study is thick, with aged leather, old cigars, and unspoken truths. The weight of generations clings to the mahogany bookshelves, the heavy drapes, the very walls of this room that has witnessed countless decisions shaping the bangtan empire.

Namjoon stands in the centre, sharp in his wedding suit, but tense. His fists curl loosely at his sides, not in defiance, but in restraint, in control. Yet his father sees through him, as he always has.

Behind him, the rest of Bangtan stands in silence. Their presence is a quiet force in the room, the unbreakable brotherhood that has always defined them. They are dressed in their finest, but even in their polished shoes and pressed suits, there’s an edge to them, the unspoken understanding that this is more than just a wedding day.

This is a transition —shift in the ground beneath them all.

“Sit,” the Don commands.

Namjoon obeys, moving to sit on leather chair across from grand desk. The weight of this moment settles in his chest —not just as a son, not just as an heir, but as a man on the precipice of something unknown.

The Don studies him carefully before speaking.

“You are about to take a wife.” The words are simple, yet they carry the weight of a decree. “And with her, a new kind of responsibility. Not one of duty, not of obligation —but of choice.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond, but his father sees the slight shift in his jaw. The way he braces, prepared for the lecture on power, on control.

But the Don leans forward instead, his gaze sharp and piercing.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, voice low. “That this is another contract. That this is another alliance to uphold, another role to fulfil.” He tilts his head slightly. “But listen to me, and listen well, son. Marriage is not a transaction. It is a battlefield. And if you are not careful, if you treat it like anything less, you will lose before the war has even begun.”

Namjoon exhales slowly, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He has won wars. He has commanded men. But this feels like a different kind of fight altogether.

The Don studies him, then leans back in his chair, his fingers interlocking atop the desk.

“You think you understand loyalty,” he says. “But you don’t —not yet.” Namjoon’s spine stiffens slightly, but his father continues. “You have been loyal to me. To this family. To this life. But now, you will learn a different kind of loyalty —the kind that binds two people together in ways more unshakable than any blood oath or family name.”

A pause. Then, softer, not weaker, but more deliberate.

“She will need to trust you, even when she fears you. She will need to rely on you, even when she resists. And you—” he exhales slowly, as if speaking from experience, “you will have to let her in, even when everything in you tells you to keep her at a distance.”

Something tightens in Namjoon’s chest. The Don sees it. He lets the silence settle; lets it sit heavy between them before speaking again.

“There will be nights when you are tired. When the weight of this life is too much. When you will want to bear it alone.” His voice dips, a warning, a plea. “Do not shut her out.”

Namjoon clenches his fist, his pulse steady, but his mind restless.

His father’s gaze sharpens. “A man who rules his home with fear is not a man. Power is not about control —it is about how much you are willing to give away, and still be unshaken.”

Namjoon swallows. He has never been afraid of power. Never doubted his ability to wield it. But this is something else entirely.

Then, his father speaks the words that shake him to his core.

“Do you love her?” Namjoon stills. His breath catches, just slightly, just enough for the Don to notice. For the first time in his life, Namjoon has no answer.

The Don exhales through his nose, as if he expected it. Then he nods, slow and measured.

“Then listen to me.” His voice is quieter now, heavier.

“Love is not something you wait to feel. It is something you build —brick by brick, day by day. Love is deciding, every morning, that you will not walk away, that you will not be the kind of man who leaves his wife wondering where she stands.”

The words cut deeper than Namjoon expects.

His father has never spoken to him like this —not as a Don, not as a leader, but as a husband who has fought this war himself. For the first time, Namjoon wonders what kind of man his father was on his own wedding day. If he was just as unsure, just as shaken.

The Don rises from his chair, walking around the desk until he is standing before Namjoon. Then, slowly, he reaches for the tie draped around his son’s collar.

With steady hands, he begins to knot it.

“You are my heir,” he murmurs, tightening the fabric, making it crisp and perfect. “You are my blood. But today, you take on a new title.”

He lifts his gaze, meeting Namjoon’s eyes—the same dark, piercing gaze that mirrors his own.

“Husband.”

Namjoon’s throat feels tight.

The Don fastens the last knot, then pins the Bangtan brooch to his lapel, securing it with a firm press of his fingers.

Then, the final touch—the boutonnière. A delicate bloom, carefully chosen, carefully placed. A symbol of unity.

The Don steps back, surveying his work.

“Be a good one,” he says. “Because when the world tests you and it will, when the weight of this life bears down on you, she will be the one standing beside you.”

He turns then, letting his gaze sweep over the rest of the room. Over the six men standing in silence —watching, listening, learning.

“And this lesson,” he says, voice firm, carrying across the space, “is for all of you.”

The Don turns to look at all the Elites standing around.

“All of you have made me proud,” he says, his voice steady but carrying something deeper than authority. “You have stood beside each other, as brothers, as comrades, as made-men, as my sons. You have built this empire with us. You have proven yourselves again and again.” He takes a breath, “But one day, each of you will stand where he is standing now.” His eyes sharpen.

“And when that day comes, I do not want to repeat this conversation.” He says, “You think you are only here to witness his moment, but you are wrong. This is a lesson each of you will need.”

There’s a faint smirk from Yoongi, the ghost of a smile from Jimin. But none of them dare to break the gravity of the moment.

“As always, you will learn from each other. And I expect you to remember these words when your time comes.” His voice lowers, rough with something that feels almost like affection. “When you stand where Namjoon is standing now, I hope you will not have to ask yourselves the same questions. I hope you will already know the answers.”

He exhales, looking over them one last time.

“When you take a wife, you take on more than a title. You take on a life that is now tied to yours, irrevocably.” His gaze lingers on each of them. “Do not take it lightly.”

His gaze lingers —piercing, searching.

“You will owe her more than your name, more than your protection, Namjoon-ah. You will owe her certainty.” His words settle like a final decree, something absolute, something unshakable.

“Do not take it lightly. Love is not given. It is earned. It is protected. It is built.”

Then, almost like a farewell.

“When I am gone, and you have only each other, remember this.”

The weight of those words lingers.

The Don looks to Namjoon one last time, adjusting the lapel of his suit with deliberate care, as if imprinting this moment into the fabric itself.

The silence is deafening and then, softer but no less powerful:

“Do not be the kind of men who make their wives wonder where they stand.” Then, with finality, the Don gives Namjoon’s shoulder one last squeeze. “Now go,” he murmurs. “Your bride is waiting.”

Namjoon nods, and for the first time all night, he does not hesitate.

You stand beside your father in front of the towering double doors leading into the grand wedding hall, your fingers clutching the bouquet tightly in one hand while the other rests in the steady grip of his arm. A quiet tension hums in the air, your heart pounding against your ribs as the weight of the moment settles over you. Inside, Saera, Jangmi, and the rest of your loved ones are already seated, waiting. But beyond them, beyond the lavish floral arrangements and the golden glow of chandeliers, waits the most important figure of all —Namjoon. The next Don. The man who will soon be your husband.

The moment the doors swing open, a rush of music swells from the live orchestra, and for a fleeting second, anxiety grips you so tightly you nearly forget to breathe. The sea of faces, the hushed murmurs of admiration —it all feels too overwhelming. But then, your father’s reassuring hand squeezes yours, grounding you, and you inhale deeply before stepping forward.

You opted not to wear a veil, allowing everyone to see the quiet determination in your eyes, the soft curve of your lips as you take your first steps down the aisle. And then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, your gaze locks onto Namjoon.

He stands at the edge of the stairs leading to the altar, framed by the soft glow of lights, a vision of strength and elegance. His bespoke navy tuxedo fits him like a second skin, accentuating his broad shoulders, his presence both commanding and impossibly magnetic. His dark hair is styled to perfection, but it’s his expression that steals the breath from your lungs.

He isn’t just watching you —he’s drinking you in. His lips curve into a small, knowing smile, one that holds a thousand unspoken promises. And he never looks away. Not once. Not as you glide down the aisle, not as your father gently places your hand into Namjoon’s extended palm, and certainly not as he grips it with a tenderness that makes your pulse stutter.

“Take care of my daughter, Namjoon.” Your dad places your hand on Namjoon's extended ones, smiling and pats his arm affectionately.

“I will, Abeo-ji.” Namjoon replies, making you father nod, turn to you and place a kiss on your head. Namjoon’s gaze flickers to him only for a moment before returning to you, his thumb brushing over your skin in a silent vow. “With everything I have,” he murmurs, voice low, rich, and meant only for you.

“I love you, sweetie.” He says, eyes slightly teary.

“I love you too, Appa.” You say, your own voice is shaky at the range of emotions you were feeling. Namjoon lets you two have your moment before your father, gives him a smile and leaves the two of you at the end of the altar.

“Shall we?” Namjoon whispers and you give him a nod, looking up to him. He leads you up the stairs to where the officiant stood, waiting for you.

Once you had taken your place beside Namjoon, the two of you exchanged shy smiles. The weight of the ceremony, the hundred eyes watching, should have made you uneasy —but standing next to him, watching his dimpled grin peek through his usual calm exterior, you felt something unexpected —comfort. A quiet part of you was genuinely happy to be here, to be marrying him.

The officiant took a knowing glance at your expressions before subtly signalling for the music to stop. The room hushed as he began to speak.

“Marriage is not merely the joining of two names, nor is it a bond woven by convenience. It is a sacred vow —one that will be tested by time, by fate, and by the trials that only life can bring. Today, in the presence of those who stand as witnesses, Kim Namjoon and Baek Nari vow to stand together —not just in the brightness of prosperity, but in the shadows of uncertainty, in the storms that may try to tear them apart.

A husband and wife are not bound by love alone, but by loyalty, by trust, by the quiet strength of knowing that through all things, they will choose each other. This is not a promise of perfection, nor a pledge that all will be easy. It is the assurance that when the weight of the world grows heavy, these two hands will share the burden. That when darkness falls, this light will not be extinguished. That through betrayal and war, through grief and joy, through power and ruin —this bond will endure.”

The officiant turned his gaze to Namjoon.

“Kim Namjoon, do you take Baek Nari to be your wife —To honour her as your equal, to shield her from harm, to walk beside her through the trials of fate, vowing to be her fortress in times of strife, her solace in moments of doubt, her greatest ally and fiercest protector and to hold no other above her, to cherish her with all that you are, for as long as breath remains in your body?”

Namjoon's fingers tightened slightly around yours, his voice low and steady.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you.

“Baek Nari, do you take Kim Namjoon to be your husband —To trust in his strength, to stand unwavering by his side, to be the fire that fuels him when the world demands more than he can give, vowing to guard his secrets as your own, to be his refuge when the world turns cold, to love him not just in days of peace, but in the storms that will surely come and to stand as his partner, his equal, his home —until time itself is no more?”

Your chest ached with the weight of the words, but there was no hesitation as you met Namjoon’s gaze and answered, “I do.”

The officiant nodded, solemn and knowing.

“Then, as a sign of this unbreakable vow, you will now exchange rings. These rings are not mere ornaments, but symbols of the promise you have made today. Metal, as strong as the bond you have forged. A circle, without end, as eternal as the commitment you have sworn.”

“Namjoon, please place the ring on the bride’s left hand and repeat after me,” The officiant says, waiting to read the next words.

Namjoon bends down to the ring-bearer Hwan, adorably giddy in his red suit and pulls at the ribbon keeping the ring in place. He takes the ring, pats the young boy on his chubby cheek and murmurs, “Thanks, buddy.”

He stands up, straightening himself and he extends his palm out. You give him your hand, expecting another luxurious multi-diamond ring that will catch everyone's attention. You are almost lazy in the way you try to keep your expression neutral but your eyes widen, at the ring Namjoon is delicately sliding onto your finger.

You gape at your wedding band —a breathtaking eternity-style ring featuring a continuous row of vivid, deep-red rubies, each gemstone meticulously set to catch the light with every movement, delicate layers of brilliant, pave-set diamonds frame the sides, adding a touch of ethereal sparkle that enhances the fiery glow of the rubies. The combination of rich crimson and shimmering white creates a striking contrast, making the ring an exquisite symbol of passion and elegance; a ring worthy of the next Madam of Bangtan.

Your eyes widen and you look up to Namjoon, who only smiles back softly, dimples showing as your cheeks warm. Despite the doom you were facing, your heart soared, bursting with sudden adoration and affection.

Diamonds were the gemstones for Bangtan —no one really bothers to change or take into consideration what the bride wants but the fact that you had mentioned you preferred rubies in a possibly forgettable scenario and Namjoon chose to have your wedding band —something you'll wear for life, made to your liking meant a lot to you.

“With this ring, I bind my soul to yours. It is a promise of devotion, a mark of my love, a claim that no force in this world can sever. From this day forth, you are mine, as I am yours.” Namjoon repeats, placing the ring on your finger. Bringing your ring-clad hand to his lips and pressing a loving kiss on it. Your heart bursts with affection, as you meet his eyes and he smiles.

He was smiling so much today and it wasn't helping your sanity.

“And now, the Bride, please place the ring on the groom’s left hand and repeat after me,” You bend down to Hwan, untying the ribbon to take the ring from the little pillow he was holding, grinning at you.

“You did great, boo-boo.” You whisper, pressing a little kiss to his cheek as the little boy loudly giggled, making the audience laugh at his cuteness. You can't help but let out a giggle of your own, before he runs away to Saera sitting next to the Kims. The Don lifted him up to place him on his lap and the Madam ruffled his hair and kissed his head.

You cast a glance at his matching ring, taking in it’s much simpler details —a striking yet understated piece, crafted from rich, gleaming metal. Its smooth, polished surface catches the light, the deep crimson rubies set within it glowing like embers. Bold yet refined, the ring is a perfect balance of tradition and individuality, a perfect balance of bangtan and you, and a symbol of unwavering commitment towards you two.

You take Namjoon's hands in yours, steady despite the whirlwind of emotions rushing through you. Carefully, you slide the wedding band onto his finger. As your fingers linger over his, you lift your gaze, meeting the steady warmth of your husband's eyes. With a quiet breath, you speak, your voice soft but certain.

“With this ring, I give you my heart, my trust, my vow. It is a symbol of all that I am, and all that I will ever be. From this day forth, you are mine, as I am yours.”

Namjoon extends a hand toward you, and without hesitation, you take it, fingers slipping naturally into his. Then, he offers the other, and you accept it just as easily, your gaze locking onto his. There’s curiosity in your eyes —perhaps even more admiration than one should have in a Bangtan marriage. You give him a soft smile as his thumbs brush gently over your fingers, his expression distant, as if lost in thought.

The officiant’s voice rings through the quiet moment, steady and heartfelt.

“To make your relationship work will take love, love that grows stronger with time, nurtured by the little moments you share. It will take trust, the kind that reassures you that, in your hearts, you always want what is best for each other. It will take dedication, to stay open, to learn, to grow together. It will take loyalty, to walk forward hand in hand, even without knowing what the future holds. And most of all, it will take commitment, to honour the promise you both make today.”

You glance at Namjoon, his deep, thoughtful eyes mirroring yours. With a small but resolute smile, you silently promise to the both of you that you will do just that. You will try your very best to make this marriage a happy one.

“Then, by the power vested in me, it is my honour and privilege to declare you husband and wife. You have entered this union with open hearts, and you will walk from here bound as one. May your love be fierce, your loyalty unshaken, and your journey together unbreakable. You may now seal this union with a kiss.”

The officiant steps aside, allowing the photographers to capture the moment in its perfect intimacy. As if drawn by instinct, you tilt your head slightly, shifting closer. Namjoon follows suit, his large, calloused hands gently cradling your cheeks, his touch both firm and tender.

“Thank you for marrying me,” He murmurs, his voice so soft you almost miss it before he presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is warm, featherlight, yet undeniably real. Your hands find their place on his shoulder and chest, grounding yourself in the moment. His lips feel like heaven against yours, but the moment ends far too quickly, and you hate to admit, even to yourself, that you’re just a little disappointed when he pulls away.

The officiant’s voice carries through the air once more.

“I am so pleased to present the newlyweds —Kim Namjoon and Baek Nari!”

Hand in hand, fingers intertwined, the two of you turned toward Bangtan and the gathered crowd. The piano tune played, and you felt yourself relax and smiled at the audience, watching your loved ones smile back at you.

The weight of the moment settled between you, unspoken but understood. Whatever came next, you would face it together.

Park Youra was a pianist of the otherworld, and with a face like hers, you wondered why she even stuck to performing at shady events.

You had often wondered how she had gotten tangled up with Bangtan. The Madam’s soft spot for her was no secret, but there had to be more. Hoseok had once offhandedly mentioned that she was repaying a loan, though that explanation had never sat right with you. Bangtan didn’t deal in simple debts.

And it seemed almost absurd —was this really their version of repayment? Performing at weddings and elite clubs, her delicate fingers dancing across the keys while dangerous men watched?

You didn’t have time to dwell on it. The speeches began.

The Elites spoke first, their words polished and deliberate —honour, loyalty, prosperity. They spoke of the traditions that bound Bangtan, of the unshakable foundations that had allowed them to thrive. And then they welcomed you, weaving you into their world with carefully chosen words and polite applause.

Then, the Don took the floor. His presence alone commanded attention, his voice smooth but lined with steel.

“Today, we do not just celebrate a union —we fortify an alliance. We do not just witness vows —we reaffirm our loyalty. Family is not merely blood; it is built in trust, in sacrifice, in the oaths we take and keep.” His gaze swept over the room, measured, assessing. A silent warning wrapped in a blessing.

Finally, your father stepped forward. The room hushed. His very presence was a force, and when he spoke, the words were edged with something heavier than sentiment.

“Marriage in our world is not just love —it is duty. It is the thread that weaves empires together. And so, to the newlyweds, may your bond be as strong as the family you now stand for. May your loyalty be unwavering, and your love a fortress.”

The room erupted in applause, but you felt the heaviness in the air.

These weren’t just well-wishes.

They felt more like warnings.

The applause was thunderous, but beneath the sound, you felt it. The weight of expectation. The unspoken conditions laced into every syllable. These weren’t just blessings. They were reminders.

And then, the music changed.

Your father turned to you with an expression that was both soft and knowing. “Come,” he said, offering his hand. “Let me have this dance.”

You hesitated for only a second before slipping your hand into his. The moment you stepped onto the floor, the melody shifted into something sweeter, gentler —a song from your childhood. His grip was steady as he led you into the dance, his movements guiding, careful. A father with his daughter. A moment meant to be tender, a farewell to the past before he placed you into your future.

“You remind me of your mother,” he murmured as he turned you. You would have felt insulted, if not for the very rare look of tenderness in his eyes at your mother’s name. “Fierce. Stubborn.” A pause. “Afraid.” Your breath hitched, but you said nothing. He sighed, squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to love him. He doesn’t have to love you —not yet at least. But you do have to trust him and I hope you never have to fear him.” The song reached its final notes, and your father pulled back slightly, his gaze flickering to the man waiting at the edge of the floor. Namjoon.

“He will be a great Don, my darling and he will do right by you,” Your father twirls you around, “and all I ask is for you to stay by his side and be the Madam he requires.” You nod, eyes teary at the overwhelming emotions you feel. He cups your cheeks, presses a kiss to your forehead, and looks at Namjoon who was walking towards you.

Your stomach twisted.

Your father exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, before taking your hand and placing it into Namjoon’s waiting palm. His warmth spread instantly, engulfing yours. The moment your fingers touched, something shifted. Your father stepped back, nodding once to Namjoon before walking away.

Namjoon didn’t move at first. He just looked at you. The air between you felt thick, charged —something unspoken lingering between your breaths.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low. “May I?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around his before nodding.

He pulled you in, one hand settling at your waist, the other cradling your hand in his. His touch was gentle but firm, his presence commanding without force. The music played on, slow and melodic, as he guided you across the floor.

“You’re nervous,” He observed quietly.

You exhaled softly, forcing yourself to relax into his hold. “Wouldn’t you be?”

A small smirk ghosted across his lips. “I’d be more nervous if you weren’t already shaking.”

You tried to steady your breathing, lifting your chin slightly. “I have been handed to a man who commands half the underworld tonight,” you murmured. “Forgive me for being a little unsettled.”

Namjoon’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse stutter. The way he held you, the way he moved, it was controlled, patient. As if he knew exactly how to ease you into his rhythm and that is exactly what you did.  The world around you faded, the murmurs of the crowd becoming nothing more than background noise. It was just the two of you, moving in sync, the air between you thick with something unnamed.

You looked up at him then, into those dark, steady eyes. And for a moment —just a fleeting moment, you almost believed him.

The music ended. The applause came and loud hoots and cheers, washing over you in a wave.

But you barely heard it.

Dinner was nothing short of opulent, a feast fit for kings and conquerors alike. Platter after platter of rich, decadent food was placed before you, each dish more extravagant than the last.

Bowls of steaming janchi guksu arrived first, the delicate wheat noodles swimming in a golden broth, garnished with thinly sliced eggs, scallions, and strips of seaweed. A dish meant for celebration, for longevity —fitting for a night like this.

Then came the meats. Galbi, beef short ribs, glistening under the dim light, their surface caramelized from hours of marination in sweet soy and garlic, grilled to perfection. Slabs of samgyeopsal, thick pork belly, sizzled as they were seared at the table, wrapped in crisp lettuce with a dollop of ssamjang, the spicy bean paste adding a kick of heat.

Seafood, still tasting of the sea, rested atop beds of crushed ice —fresh hwe, thin slices of raw fish, paired with vinegared chojang dipping sauce. Steamed abalone, soft and briny, arrived in ceramic plates, while buttery grilled eel was basted in a dark, glossy glaze.

Rice, a staple, was anything but simple tonight. Bori-bap, nutty barley rice, was served alongside small dishes of jangajji —pickled vegetables bursting with sharp, fermented flavours. There was also yubuchobap, seasoned rice wrapped in thin pockets of fried tofu, slightly sweet and tangy.

And of course, no banquet was complete without jeon, crispy golden pancakes, stacked high. There were seafood pajeon, brimming with green onions and squid, and kimchi jeon, their edges perfectly crisp, the tangy fermented heat cutting through the richness of the other dishes.

For dessert, an array of tteok —chewy rice cakes, dusted with powdered soybean flour, filled with sweet red bean or crushed nuts —sat alongside elegant hwajeon, honeyed flower pancakes adorned with delicate petals. Small golden cups of sikhye, a sweet rice punch, were served to cleanse the palate, cooling and subtly spiced with ginger.

The wine poured endlessly, but not just the deep reds of European vineyards —tonight, there was also baekseju, a rice wine infused with medicinal herbs, and makgeolli, the milky, slightly effervescent drink served in rustic brass bowls.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence an unwavering force, his fingers grazing yours when he reached for his glass. The warmth of the room, the richness of the food, the weight of the evening —it all pressed around you, thick with something unspoken. Neither of you spoke much, but the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just new, maybe even exciting.

The wedding cake was nothing short of a masterpiece —an opulent creation that towered over the banquet table, grand enough to feed all of Bangtan and then some. It stood tall, at least five tiers, each one adorned with handcrafted sugar flowers, intricate lace-like piping, and delicate gold leaf detailing that shimmered under the warm glow of the chandeliers.

Saera had outdone herself. The floral arrangements cascading down the tiers were so realistic they could have been mistaken for fresh blooms —peonies, roses, and magnolias in soft ivory and blush, interwoven with delicate strands of edible pearls. At the very top, a sleek, minimalist topper bore the initials of the newlyweds, cast in fine gold script.

When it was time to cut the cake, the room hushed. The knife, its handle wrapped in a silk ribbon, was placed in your hands first. Namjoon’s hand covered yours a moment later —firm, steady. Together, you sliced through the bottom tier, the blade gliding effortlessly through the velvety layers beneath the pristine fondant. A rich aroma filled the air as the first slice was lifted —a decadent combination of vanilla bean sponge, honey-soaked chestnut filling, and white chocolate ganache.

The first bite was tradition.

Namjoon turned to you, holding a piece between his fingers, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips. “Open,” he murmured, his voice just for you.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before parting your lips, letting him place the sweet morsel against your tongue. The flavours melted together —soft, airy cake, the warmth of chestnut, the silkiness of ganache. Your turn. You took a piece and held it up to his lips. He didn’t hesitate. His gaze met yours as he bit down, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes before he swallowed.

Polite applause rippled through the room, and then the servers took over, carefully slicing and distributing the cake to the guests. Plates of the masterpiece were carried across the grand hall, each portion accompanied by a drizzle of honey or a scattering of crushed nuts, the perfect final indulgence after the lavish feast.

The wine flowed endlessly, deep red and velvety, tasting like warmth and fire on your tongue. Every sip burned just enough to remind you of the reality settling around you.

That this was your wedding night.

That you belonged to Bangtan now.

That you belonged to him.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence an unwavering force, a shadow that had merged with yours the moment your father placed your hand in his. He didn't say much, but he didn’t need to. The weight of him beside you, the subtle brush of his fingers against yours when he reached for his glass, the way his gaze flickered toward you every time someone made a toast in your honour —it was enough to keep you aware, too aware.

The night stretched on, thick with laughter, murmured conversations, the low hum of celebration. Around you, the men drank, their voices rich with satisfaction, their hands clinking glasses filled to the brim with aged liquor. Women draped in silk and diamonds moved gracefully between them, offering flirtations and hushed words into waiting ears.

But none of it compared to him.

Namjoon wasn’t like the others. He didn’t revel in the festivities the way some of them did. He sat composed, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping lazily against the stem of his wine glass. Observing. Calculating. Even now, surrounded by the warmth of victory, he remained untouchable.

And yet —he was yours.

The thought alone sent something shivering through you. Not fear. Something else. Something new.

Even as conversations resumed, the laughter and clinking of glasses filling the space, your mind lingered on that fleeting exchange —the briefest moment of sweetness in a night built on duty. The night stretched on, thick with laughter, murmured conversations, the low hum of celebration. But eventually, it was time.

And Bangtan did not let you leave quietly.

The farewell was grand, dramatic in a way that only Bangtan could make it.

The made-men grouped in two making a pathway for you two to walk, their suits crisp, their expressions joyous, their eyes happy. It was an honour —this parting. A tradition meant to seal the night, to acknowledge the weight of what had been done.

The moment you stepped forward, the sky erupted.

Fireworks exploded above, bursts of gold and crimson shattering the darkness, illuminating the night in violent beauty. The light painted fleeting shadows across the faces of the men who had now become your family, the ones who would kill for you, die for you —if Namjoon willed it.

Then, Namjoon took your hand.

Not forcefully, but deliberately. A silent reassurance. A quiet claim.

His fingers wrapped around yours, firm and unwavering. His grip was warm, steady, grounding. He did not pull, did not drag. He simply held, possessed, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

And you let him.

You walked together, step by step, down the aisle of men who had fought wars in the shadows, who had bled and killed for the empire they now welcomed you into. And then—

The gunfire began.

The deafening crack of bullets shattered the air, a chorus of steel and smoke. Shot after shot rang out, fired not at you, but at the sky, a salute, a tribute, a blessing wrapped in danger. It was tradition —Bangtan’s way of sending you off, their way of ensuring that the world knew this was not just a marriage. This was a union of power.

The vibrations of the gunshots thrummed through your bones, your heart pounding against your ribs as the scent of gunpowder and burning embers filled the night. The sound should have startled you. It should have felt ominous.

Instead, it felt like a beginning.

Somewhere among the noise, someone called out— ‘For good luck.’

Your grip on Namjoon’s hand tightened involuntarily. You didn’t know if it was from uncertainty or something else. Something raw, something electric.

He turned his head slightly, catching the motion. His thumb grazed over the back of your hand in response, a barely-there movement, an offering of comfort. Or perhaps a reminder. That you weren’t walking away from something tonight.

You were walking into it.

The doors of the sleek black car stood open at the end of the procession, waiting. The very last step before you left behind the version of yourself that had existed before.

You hesitated —just for a second.

Namjoon noticed.

He turned toward you, his free hand reaching out to brush the stray strands of hair from your face. It was an oddly tender gesture for a man like him, for a man who carried power like a second skin. But then, his fingers trailed downward, past your jaw, lingering for a second longer than necessary at the pulse of your throat. His touch was light, but deliberate. Testing.

"Ready?" he asked, voice low, just for you.

You weren’t sure if he was asking about the car.

Or about him.

You swallowed, the weight of his hand still ghosting over your skin, the sound of gunfire still ringing in the distance. The air smelled of burnt powder and champagne, of roses crushed beneath hurried footsteps.

Were you ready?

It didn’t matter.

The door closed behind you. The car pulled away. And your new life began.

—next chapter | chapter six

—author's endnote | did you guys like this chapter? as always, like, reblog and comment! let me know your thoughts, do you like namjoon so far? what about nari? feel free to drop an ask, anything you like about this universe and would like to discuss, I am all ears. I hope all of you are doing well, lots of love, aksh 💕

—taglist notes | comment on the post if you want to be tagged. If I have missed your name, please let me know. I'm back after quite a long time, so dropping a text to let me know I've missed your name would be ver helpful. If you are on the taglist but haven’t been notified, please check this post out.

2026, March 06.

[akshstudios]

You Never Walk Alone | BTS

Chapter Three of You Never Walk Alone can be found here 💜

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[akshstudios]

You Never Walk Alone | BTS

—pairing | werewolf!bts × you (fem!reader)

—chapter three | embracing a new dawn: wolves of bangtan and yoo ahmi

—collection | ot7!bts × reader stories

—story masterlist | you never walk alone

—previous chapter | chapter two

—genre | werewolf au × mate au × supernatural au × strangers to lovers au ( angst × romance × fluff × supernatural )

—rating | mature-rated

—wordcount | 9 k

—warnings | vampires exist. mentions of blood. consumption of blood and human remains. human body mutilation. badly written action scenes. death of loved ones. talks about insanity, cults, mass-psychosis and serial killings. the reader is found extremely hurt and almost dead. bites are a constant mention.

—author’s forenote | hi everyone! I have edited the last chapters a bit because I realised there were a few things I needed to add and remove to help better understand the flow of the chapter. So, please give that a read before reading through this. I am trash, so I am back after a year, please forgive me, and enjoy the chapter ahead!

—chapter summary | You meet Jin's brothers and we find out partly how you ended up in the cult.

“Jin, do you—” You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Do you mind staying back for a bit?”

His brow furrows in concern. “Is anything wrong, Ahmi-yah?”

“No-no,” You rush to say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel a little bored.” The admission feels small, almost selfish. You’re certain Jin has better things to do than entertain a heartbroken, injured girl who’s desperate for distraction.

Jin laughs softly, the sound warm and comforting. “Of course, I’ll stay. What do you want to do? Though,” he adds with mock seriousness, “I’m not sure screentime is advisable for you right now.”

“I mean, anything is fine.” You shrug. “You could just… talk. About yourself, about the people outside this room, about your world.”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “My world, huh? Well, I live here with my six younger brothers.” As if summoned, a loud crash echoes from somewhere down the hall, followed by a cacophony of shouts —half in agony, half in laughter. Jin rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly you can’t help but grin. “That’s them, by the way. The rascals causing the chaos.”

“Tell me about them?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. You had heard all these loud noises the past few weeks, but you knew nothing about the people causing them.

“Let’s start with Yoongi,” he begins. “He’s the second oldest.”

“Dr. Min?” you ask, eyes widening in recognition. “I didn’t know you were brothers.”

“Yep,” Jin confirms with a wink. “Though it’s hard to connect my worldwide handsome face to his old-man energy.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “He doesn’t seem like an old man to me.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen him groaning about his back after sitting at the piano for two hours,” Jin retorts. “Speaking of which, he’s incredible at playing. You should hear him sometime.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn the piano,” you admit wistfully.

Jin brightens. “Once you’re better, I’ll ask Yoongi to teach you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You look at him, startled by the consistent kindness he’s shown you since you arrived.

“Of course. Anything for you.” His gaze softens, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest.

He continues. “Then there’s Hoseok. You’ve probably heard him —he’s loud, very loud.” As if on cue, another booming cheer erupts from the hallway, and you hear someone yell, “Dance-off time!”

Jin sighs dramatically. “That’s him being quiet, mind you.”

You giggle at his expression, and Jin gives you a playful grin before moving on. “Namjoon is the one recommending books to you.” He gestures toward the stack on your bedside table. He had asked you two weeks into your bed rest if you’d like reading and brought some really varied book recommendation stacks. “He says you have great taste and even invited you to his book club.”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I’d love to join!”

“He’ll be thrilled,” Jin chuckles. “It’s just him for now, so he’s been looking for new members.”

“What about the others?” You ask, eager to hear more.

“Ah, let’s see. There’s Jimin. He’s sweet but also loves teasing everyone. If you ever need someone to cheer you up, he’s your guy. He’s great at dancing, too.”

“And?” you ask.

“Taehyung,” Jin says fondly, “Taehyung is an artist at heart. He’s a bit eccentric but in the best way. Loves photography, painting and collecting random things that somehow make sense to him.”

“Sounds like fun,” You muse.

“Definitely. And lastly, Jungkook, the youngest. He’s insanely talented but also a bit of a troublemaker. Always trying to outdo himself and everyone else.” You smile, imagining the lively household Jin is describing.

You grew up alone, with only your mother and dad to call as family, so to hear about a large group of siblings felt so interesting. You wondered how they might be, seeing as Jin was such a kind and beautiful man.

“How about this?” Jin suggests. “Join us for breakfast tomorrow. It is about time you left this room,” You still looked unsure, so he added, “I’ll make all you two types of bulgogi and at least ten side dishes.”

“You don’t have to—” You start, but Jin cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“Nonsense. It’s settled. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He grins, “Or is it brunch?”

You woke the next morning stuck between dread and anticipation, the two emotions tangling so tightly in your chest you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You moved slowly, deliberately, as if care itself could steady you. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, took a long shower, letting the familiar scent of soap bloom in steam. You put on the lotion Jin had gotten you, applying skincare with gentle precision. You had washed your hair, dried it, combed it through until it fell obediently over your shoulders. You redressed the wounds carefully, especially the ones at your neck which were still tender and half-healed. The fabric of the pants and sweatshirt Jin had washed and left for you yesterday felt soft in the gentlest way.

You sat in the lounge chair by the window, hands folded in your lap, staring at nothing. Minutes passed and with each one your pulse climbed a little higher. The silence wasn’t comforting at all, instead it was amplifying everything. You exhaled sharply and you stood up, smoothing your sweatshirt as if preparing for battle. One last look in the mirror, not to admire, but to check. You slipped your feet into the ridiculously soft slippers, their comfort almost comical against the storm in your stomach.

You swung the door open. The hallway was empty. And for a split second, a strange stillness washed over you, not relief, not fear. Just the hollow, echoing awareness that you were stepping into something new without anyone escorting you there. You stepped out, exhaling the breath you held.

It had been nearly two months since you’d arrived at the packhouse, and this was the first time you’d stepped beyond the safety of the room. You knew logically that you were safe here, no shackles, no locked doors, no cold stone walls, no shadows waiting to swallow you whole, and yet, something restless lived beneath your skin.

The hallway was wide and sunlit, the wooden floors warm under your feet. Built-in shelves lined the walls, holding framed photographs, small sculptures, and pieces of artwork collected over the years. It felt lived in. One particular painting caught your eye; an artwork washed in deep blues and silvers, almost lunar. You slowed, drawn to it, taking a hesitant step closer.

A door opened by you. “It’s bulgogi time, everyone!” a voice called out in an exaggerated sing-song tone. You nearly leapt out of your skin. Your shoulders hunched instinctively, breath catching as you spun around. Your face registered fear even before your mind did, not true fear but something sharp and electric. Your heart was racing, hammering against your ribs.

“Oh—shit,” the boy breathed. He approached quickly but carefully, dropping into a crouch a few feet away from you, hands raised slightly as if approaching a startled animal. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, voice softening instantly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You lifted your head. And promptly forgot how to think. He was shirtless. For a full second, your brain went completely blank. You blinked. Once. Twice. Your eyes lifted to meet his, and then, traitorously, dropped back down again.

His eyes widened. “My bad—again,” he said quickly, crossing his arms over his torso in an almost comically modest gesture. It reminded you absurdly of a vintage film heroine clutching a towel. “I’m not used to there being a lady in the house.” He gave a sheepish little giggle that died almost immediately when he saw your expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern replacing embarrassment. “I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

You realized then that you hadn’t said anything. That silence had become your default again. “Yeah,” you managed finally. Your voice felt rusted from disuse. “I’m okay.”

He frowned slightly. “I must’ve really startled you,” he murmured. “Your heart’s still going a mile a minute.”

Your eyes snapped back to him. You stared. He stared back, patient, observant, waiting. You’d gone quiet again, and before panic could bloom fully in your chest, another voice drifted down the hall.

“Hobi-yah.” Yoongi stepped into view, exasperation lacing his tone. “Did we not tell you to keep your decibels under control for at least the first week Ahmi is out of her room?”

“Ah—hyung!” Hobi grimaced. “I didn’t realize she was out—”

“And,” Jin added, appearing behind Yoongi like a second wave of authority, “—clothes are not optional.”

He fixed Hoseok with a pointed look. “Respect the feminine presence in this house, Hoseok-ah. Wear a damn shirt.”

Hoseok lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m the villain.” He shot you one last apologetic glance. “Sorry again.” Then he retreated into his room, the door clicking shut far more gently this time.

Silence settled again but softer now. Yoongi’s eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before his voice dropped a few degrees. “You alright?” You nod, straightening up to your height, and looking at Jin again.

Jin, despite his scolding moments earlier, looked openly concerned. “I am okay,” you tell him, wanting to ease his worry. “Really,” You press. The hallway no longer felt quite as overwhelming, when he smiled softly at you.

“C’mon,” Jin said gently, his voice softer now. His hand settled at the base of your back, not pushing, not firm, just there. You let yourself be steered out of the hallway, down the wide staircase, your fingers brushing the smooth wooden railing as you descended. The space below opened up gradually, and when you reached the last step, it felt less like entering a room and more like stepping into air.

The living, dining, and kitchen area flowed together in one expansive sweep. There were no harsh divides, just subtle shifts in furniture and lighting that suggested purpose without confinement.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the back wall, flooding the entire space with daylight. Warm golden light that spilled across wood floors and stone accents. It reflected softly off glass surfaces and metal fixtures, making everything feel alive. Your eyes squinted slightly. It was brighter than what you’d grown used to.

The living area sat slightly sunken, almost like a modern conversation pit. Two massive sectionals faced each other across a low stone table, with thick woven rugs anchoring the space. Throws were carelessly draped over armrests. A wide hearth of pale stone framed a modern fireplace, currently unlit but commanding attention nonetheless.

To the right, another seating area curved toward the windows, armchairs angled toward the view, as if meant for late-night talks or early morning coffee. A long bookshelf ran along one wall, filled with an odd mix of hardbound novels, vinyl records, framed photographs, and small sculptures that hinted at shared history. Beyond the living space stood the dining area.

The table was solid wood, long, heavy, capable of seating at least fourteen comfortably. The chairs didn’t match perfectly, but they complemented each other, as if added over time and one side held a long, solid wood bench. Above it hung three pendant lights, matte black with warm interiors that probably cast a golden glow at night. You could almost imagine it.

“Pick any seat,” Jin said warmly. “The boys aren’t territorial over the chairs.”

“I’ll sit beside you,” you replied quietly. “Tell me which one is yours.”

“I always take the bench,” he grinned. “But I’ll sit next to you even if you choose the prettiest, most comfortable throne in the middle.”

“The middle chairs are dangerously cushy,” Yoongi called on his way to the kitchen. “The boys used to fight over them. There were casualties.”

“Translated,” Jin said dryly, “the younger brats claimed the chairs, and we were exiled to the bench.” Yoongi snorted.

“But today,” Jin continued, turning to you with a soft smile, “Ahmi is the guest of honour. The brats can take the bench.”

“I don’t want to—” you began quickly.

Jin gently shushed you. “Their well-fed butts can survive one meal on hardwood.”

You nodded, though a small knot formed in your stomach. You didn’t want to disrupt their rhythm. Didn’t want to feel like an intrusion. You’d already startled Hoseok upstairs. You probably kept upsetting their balance just by existing in it. Jin pulled out one of the centre chairs for you, the very one Yoongi had called dangerously cushy and you slipped into it carefully. The seat was softer than expected. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, back straight, posture almost formal.

You felt like you were being introduced to royalty instead of family.

“Good morning, everyone~” You stiffened at the familiar, jovial voice before you saw him. Hoseok appeared at the top of the stairs, this time very much clothed, followed by a taller man with broad shoulders and thoughtful eyes. You rose instinctively to your feet.

“You’ve met Hobi, of course,” Jin said lightly. Hoseok offered you a small, apologetic grin.

“I am really sorry, Ahmi. I genuinely didn’t hear you earlier, and I promise I wasn’t trying to give you a heart attack.” He bowed deeply.

You bowed immediately in return. “No, no, Hoseok-ssi. I’ve just been… jumpy lately. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

“Call me Hobi,” he said, laughing softly. “Hoseok-ssi makes me sound like I pay taxes and complain about back pain. I am not fifty, I swear.”

Before you could respond, Yoongi called out, “Hoseok-ah. Help me carry these to the table.”

Hobi gave you a playful salute. “Duty calls,” he declared, then bounced toward the kitchen.

The taller man stepped forward. “I’m Namjoon,” he said, offering his hand. You hesitated just a fraction before taking it. His handshake was firm but gentle.

“You have excellent taste in books,” he added, smiling in a way that felt both amused and sincere.

Your lips curved before you could stop them. “The book club president,” you teased back softly. “You have a beautiful collection.”

“But apparently my taste is questionable,” Namjoon gave a definitely uncharacteristic pout of misfortune.

You turned sharply to glare at Jin. “You told him?” You said, the accusatory tone making Namjoon laugh.

“I presented it as constructive feedback,” Jin defended, before he could continue, you turned back to Namjoon quickly. Your face warmed in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant —your collection is very far-reaching. You read authors from everywhere. Different styles, different eras, different languages. It’s just… hard to pinpoint what is that you exactly enjoy.” You cringed inwardly. That hadn’t sounded better.

Namjoon blinked at you once and then laughed. “I was teasing you,” he said easily. “You’re right. I read anything that keeps my brain occupied. Philosophy, poetry, sci-fi, political essays, obscure Lithuanian novels—”

“That might explain the chaos he carries around,” Jin muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly,” Namjoon nodded solemnly. “My shelves are organized. My taste is not.” A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Aww,” a new voice chimed from the staircase, warm and honeyed, “—she has a cute laugh, hyung.”

You turned to the voice. A shorter beautiful man with bright blonde hair was descending the stairs with effortless grace, sunlight catching in the soft waves of it. Behind him followed someone taller, broader, quieter, his steps heavier, more measured.

“Jimin’s a bit of a flirt, Ahmi,” Yoongi informed you flatly as he set a bowl of rice onto the table. “And Jungkook needs time to thaw before you see his true colours.”

“I am not a flirt,” Jimin shot back immediately, scandalized. He reached the bottom step and walked straight toward you like you were the only fixed point in the room. You froze. He stopped just a breath away, his eyes bright and openly curious. There was something feline about his movements that were fluid and deliberate.

Before you could prepare yourself, he gently took your hand. He bent slightly and pressed the faintest kiss against your knuckles, his lips barely grazing your skin.

“I’m Park Jimin,” he said softly, looking up at you through his lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “But since you’re so beautiful —you can call me Oppa.” Your brain short-circuited. The room seemed louder and brighter.

“Um…” You blinked at him, still very aware of the warmth of his hand around yours. “No?”

There was a split second of silence and then Jin burst into his signature, windshield-wiper laugh. “Good girl, Ahmi!”

Yoongi snorted. Hoseok clutched his chest dramatically. “Rejected on first attempt. That’s rough.”

Namjoon hid a smile behind his glass of water. Jimin, meanwhile, gasped like you’d mortally wounded him. “You didn’t even hesitate.” Jimin placed a hand over his heart. “I was being welcoming.”

“You were being shameless,” Yoongi corrected.

Jimin ignored him entirely, turning back to you with a softer expression, less theatrics and more sincerity. “I’m really glad you’re here now,” he said quietly. “We’ve all been waiting.”

That softened something in your chest. “I—” Your voice almost caught, but you steadied it. “Thank you.”

Behind Jimin, the taller man gave you a small nod. You nod back, instinctively. He didn’t step forward immediately, just gave you space. His eyes flickered over you briefly before turning them away when your eyes met.

“He’s shy at first,” Jimin stage-whispered very loudly, making Jungkook shoot him a look. “I’m not shy.”

“You didn’t even say hello.” Jungkook hesitated. “…Hi,” he said, directing it to you properly this time. But his eyes flickered away right as they met yours once again. You now could see the blush creeping up his face.

You offered him a small, polite smile. “Hello.”

Jimin leaned slightly toward you again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t let them bully you. If anyone gives you trouble, you can sit next to me.”

“But You are the trouble,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“I am charm,” Jimin corrected, flipping his hair.

“You are delusion,” Yoongi added dryly. Jimin clicked his tongue but finally released your hand, though not before giving it one last, deliberate squeeze.

“Where’s Tae?” Jimin asked, glancing around. “He had a full identity crisis last night trying to pick a suit for the occasion.”

“A-a suit?” you repeated, suddenly hyper-aware of the oversized sweatshirt and soft lounge pants you’d borrowed. Your fingers instinctively smoothed the hem. You hadn’t even brushed your hair properly.

“Ahmi-yah,” Jin said gently, sensing the shift in your demeanour. “Relax. This is completely informal—” He looked up toward the staircase and froze. “Tae—” Jin’s voice rose a full octave. “What the hell are you wearing?!”

All heads turned. You turned too and your brain momentarily left your body.

Descending the stairs like he was stepping onto a red carpet was a tall man with sharp features and effortless poise. He was, in fact, wearing a suit. Not just a suit, a deep emerald velvet blazer tailored to perfection. Crisp white shirt underneath. Black slacks. Polished shoes. A silver brooch pinned at his lapel. His dark hair was styled deliberately, falling artfully across his forehead as if wind machines followed him indoors. He paused halfway down the stairs, tilted his head almost akin to a puppy.

“I dressed appropriately,” he said smoothly. “This is a special occasion.”

“This is brunch,” Yoongi muttered sighing tiredly. Tae ignored him entirely, his gaze locking onto you. He descended the rest of the stairs with slow, controlled steps. When he reached the bottom, he adjusted his cuffs and offered you a small bow, deeper than necessary, almost theatrical but not insincere.

“I’m Kim Taehyung,” he said, voice low and warm. “I wanted to make a good first impression.”

Your throat went dry. You were painfully aware of your borrowed clothes now, of your messy hair, of your heart beginning to beat a little too fast.

“I— you look…” Your brain scrambled for vocabulary. “—very prepared.” Behind you, Hoseok snorted.

“He tried on four different jackets,” Jimin stage-whispered. “He asked if charcoal made him look emotionally unavailable.”

“It does,” Yoongi replied without missing a beat. Taehyung shot them a lazy glare before returning his attention to you.

“You don’t need to feel underdressed,” he said quietly, as if reading your thoughts. “You look comfortable. That matters more.” The comment wasn’t teasing. It was grounding. Something in your shoulders eased.

Jin let out a dramatic sigh. “Fashion week is over. Sit down, Taehyung.” Taehyung gave one last small smile in your direction before moving to the table. “Alright, enough theatrics everyone,” Jin announced, clapping once again. “Sit and eat, before the meal gets cold.”

“I made everything I promised, Ahmi,” Jin said, as he pulled out your chair, “Beef bulgogi, spicy pork bulgogi, beef and radish soup,” He pointed at each dish, and went on to list over fifteen side dishes, making you wonder since when he was cooking and a little guilty, he had to cook so much.

“Thank you, Jin,” You smile, awestruck but grateful, “Everything looks and smells delicious,” Jin smiles bashfully at your compliment, moving to pull the chair next to you. Jimin made another bold attempt toward the chair beside you. Jin cleared his throat pointedly. Jimin froze mid-step, slowly, dramatically. He pivoted toward the bench instead.

“You wound me daily, hyung,” He muttered, pouting.

“You’ll survive,” Jin replied calmly, taking the seat beside you as promised. Yoongi took the other seat on your side, giving you a small smile when you looked at him. The rest of the five naturally had took on the bench. The seat directly across from you on the bench side, remained empty. Three pairs of eyes noticed at once. A silent understanding passed between the youngest three.

Jimin straightened first. “I think,” he said smoothly, “I should sit there. For balance.”

“For balance?” Jungkook repeated.

“Yes. Aesthetic balance.”

Taehyung leaned back slightly, unimpressed. “You just want direct eye contact.”

Jimin didn’t deny it. Jungkook crossed his arms. “We’re not arguing over a seat.”

“We are,” Jimin said calmly.

“Settle it quickly,” Yoongi muttered, already taking a bite of the seafood pancake.

Jimin perked up instantly. “Rock, paper, scissors!”

Hoseok and Namjoon took to the end seats on the bench, leaving enough space for the three in the middle. You blinked. They were absolutely serious. The three of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the end of the table like warriors preparing for battle.

“One round,” Jungkook said.

“Best of three,” Jimin countered.

“Only chickens need three rounds to decide,” Taehyung replied coolly.

“Fine,” Jimin agreed.

“Rock—paper—scissors!” They crouched slightly. Hands shot forward. Jimin put out scissors.

Jungkook put out scissors as well and Taehyung put out a rock.

Jungkook blinked. “No.” Jimin wailed dramatically.

Hoseok burst into laughter. “Clean sweep!” Taehyung didn’t celebrate but looked smug enough to annoy the other two. He simply adjusted his blazer sleeve like this had always been the inevitable outcome.

Jungkook stared at his defeated scissors. “I demand a recount.”

“There is no recount in rock-paper-scissors,” Namjoon said wisely.

Taehyung exhaled through his nose but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. Taehyung slipped on the bench seat directly across from you back and sat down with unhurried grace. Jimin and Jungkook sulked dramatically; Jimin dropping to Taehyung’s left with exaggerated despair, Jungkook taking the right side with dignified resignation.

“You cheated spiritually,” Jimin accused.

“I simply won,” Taehyung replied, folding his hands neatly on the table.

From your seat, you could feel your confusion fighting with something lighter. This was ridiculous, loud, unnecessary and completely harmless. Taehyung glanced up at you, just briefly with victory in his eyes.

You looked down quickly, pretending to focus very hard on your soup. Across from you, the three youngest continued muttering about ‘rematches’ and ‘strategic errors,’ while Namjoon and Hoseok settled onto the bench, and Jin quietly added another slice of bulgogi to your bowl like none of this was out of the ordinary. The absurdity of grown men battling over seating arrangements made something loosen inside your chest.

“We lost the visual advantage,” Jimin muttered.

“You’re acting like this is combat,” Namjoon sighed as he moved to grab some more pork.

“It is,” Jungkook agreed solemnly, sliding onto the bench beside him. Jin ignored all of them and focused entirely on you. He placed a bowl gently in front of you first —rice, fluffy and steaming. Then a bigger bowl of soup. He added portions of beef bulgogi with careful attention, and even pieces of pork before asking quietly, “Too much?”

You shook your head lightly at the extra portion.

Jin studied your face for a second longer, then nodded once, satisfied. He’d been quietly tracking things; how much you ate, how often you finished your meals, how your appetite had grown since that first fragile week when even a few bites had exhausted you. He had noticed you loved eating a lot, so he always brought you different dishes to try and enjoy. Only after your bowl was filled did he finally serve himself.

The table settled into a rhythm. Chopsticks lifted. Ceramic clicked softly. Someone reached for water. Low conversation threaded through the space, overlapping but not overwhelming. The food was amazing like always. You let the noise blur into the background and, for the first time without panic clawing at your ribs, really looked at them. Now that the rapid introductions were over, now that your pulse had steadied. They were all distractingly good-looking. Not in the same way. Not identical. Each carried something distinct.

Jin, beside you, felt almost unreal up close. Broad shoulders beneath a simple shirt, posture relaxed but assured. His face was striking in that balanced way, sharp lines softened by warm eyes. He looked like someone who could command a room without raising his voice, yet would kneel to fix a loose shoelace if you asked. There was authority in him, yes but never intimidation. Sitting next to him felt like leaning against something steady and solid. A calm you hadn’t known you were missing.

Yoongi, on your other side, was the opposite kind of presence. Quieter, denser and composed in a way that felt carved rather than grown. Dark hair falling just enough over sharp eyes that seemed to register everything without announcing it. He spoke rarely, but when he did, it was precise and efficient. There was something undeniably feline about him; pale skin, delicate features, a brooding gaze that softened unexpectedly when he smiled. And that smile, small, gummy, and disarming, was startling against his otherwise controlled demeanour.

Namjoon, seated across on the bench, was larger than you’d first registered. Taller, broader, carrying himself with quiet intellectual weight. His features were strong, handsome in a thoughtful way rather than flashy. When he spoke, even casually, there was intention behind his words. His hands were big, movements occasionally awkward as if he forgot his own size but you could see the care in the way he adjusted his strength around objects and around people. He looked like someone constantly balancing ideas in his head, philosophy and curiosity layered beneath muscle.

Hoseok seemed to emit light. Even sitting still, there was a current to him; expressive face, high cheekbones, skin clear and luminous. His smile came easily, full and bright, but when his eyes flickered to you, that brightness softened instantly. It dimmed into something protective, almost tender. He’d startled you earlier, but he looked more troubled by that fact than you ever had been. His warmth was so immediate that it almost disguised how handsome he truly was at first glance.

Jimin, currently sulking in exaggerated defeat beside Taehyung, was compact but magnetic. There was easy-going beauty in him. The way he tilted his head. The way he folded his hands. The way he pouted just enough to be dramatic but not enough to be childish. His jawline was sharp, but his cheeks still held softness. His lips were a natural pink that made you briefly and traitorously wonder if they’d always looked that way. When he smiled fully, his eyes curved into crescents, and you could absolutely imagine how easily he made people blush. Flirtatious, yes. But observant. Calculating in a gentle way.

Jungkook was quieter than the others but not smaller for it. If anything, the silence made him more noticeable. He was broader through the shoulders, his build solid in a way that felt earned rather than decorative. The fabric of his t-shirt pulled naturally across his chest and arms when he reached for something, muscle shifting beneath like it was simply part of him, not something he displayed, just something that existed. His face was unfairly handsome. Large, dark eyes framed by thick lashes, soft at first glance, almost doe-like but sharpened by the way they focused.

A few piercings glinted when he turned his head, small flashes of silver against warm skin. They suited him. Not flashy, not rebellious for attention’s sake. Just a quiet edge that contrasted with the softness of his eyes. There was youth in him, but not immaturity.

And then Taehyung, seated directly across from you.

Taehyung didn’t need to try to be noticed. He simply was noticed. Even seated casually across from you, even with his brooch removed and his blazer slightly loosened, there was something composed about him. Intentional. Like every line of his body had been arranged with unconscious elegance. The emerald of his jacket caught the light when he shifted, rich against his skin tone, dramatic without being gaudy.

Strong brows. Straight nose. A mouth that seemed sculpted rather than grown. His features weren’t soft like Jimin’s or sharp like Hoseok’s, they were balanced in a way that felt almost classical. And yet there was something playful hidden underneath, something that flickered in his eyes when he thought no one noticed. He looked every bit of the art you had heard he adored.

“So, Ahmi,” Jimin began smoothly, resting his chin in his palm as he cast an exaggeratedly sharp look at his older brother, “do tell us about yourself.”

His eyes flicked toward Jin again, playful but accusing. “Jin-hyung only ever sings praises about your manners and beauty.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m certain you’re far more accomplished than that. Surely a lady like you deserves to be known for more than just her looks.”

Your brain stalled again. You swallowed. “Um…” The word came out smaller than intended. “I—I don’t really have any remarkable achievements, I’m afraid.” Other than getting kidnapped by monsters, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Hoseok barked out a soft laugh. “Ignore whatever theatrical nonsense he’s performing, Ahmi.” Jimin gasped in mock offense. “Just tell us about yourself,” Hoseok urged gently. Then, seeing the way your fingers tightened slightly around your chopsticks, he softened further. “Or… actually how about we start? And you can follow in a similar way?” You nodded quickly, grateful for the lifeline.

“I’ll go first,” Hoseok declared, grabbing his spoon and holding it like a microphone. He cleared his throat theatrically. “I am Jung Hoseok but you can call me Hobi. I am twenty-four. Born on February eighteenth. I help with the family business,” He tilted his head proudly. “But what I truly enjoy is dancing. I’m a part-time instructor at the Seoul Dance Academy.” There was warmth in the way he said it, like dancing wasn’t just work.

You tilted your head slightly. “Where did ‘Hobi’ come from?”

“It’s from J-Hope,” Jimin chimed in immediately, barely suppressing a giggle behind his palm. “He’s the Jung Hope of Seoul Dance Academy. Jung Hope. Hope. Hope-ie. Hobi.”

Understanding lit up your face. “Oh! Hope because you’re bright and happy?” You clapped softly to yourself, pleased with the connection. “That’s adorable. It’s such a cute nickname.”

Hoseok froze, then dramatically turned toward Jin in pride. “Did you hear that, hyung? I’m cute.”

Jin didn’t even look up from his plate. “Don’t let it get to your head.” The table laughed, including you.

“I’ll go next,” Jimin announced, snatching the spoon-microphone from Hoseok with unnecessary flair. He sat up straighter, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shirt. “Park Jimin. October 13th. Twenty-three years old. I also assist in the family business which let me tell you, is tragically dull but I am, in contrast, an exceptionally talented dancer.” He paused for effect. “I teach at Seoul Dance Academy as well. With Hobi-hyung.” There was satisfaction —but it wasn’t arrogant. It was earned.

“Are you trained in any particular style?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. The second mention of dance had sparked genuine curiosity.

Jimin’s eyes brightened at your interest. “Contemporary and modern.”

You turned back to Hoseok. “What about you?”

“Street dance,” he grinned. “Hip-hop, locking, popping. Anything that lets me move.”

“Do you dance, Ahmi?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. The attention shifted again, but this time it felt lighter. You felt a little bashful under their interested gaze.

“I trained in ballet when I was younger,” you admitted. “But my parents moved around a lot, so I couldn’t stay anywhere long enough to continue properly. I did contemporary and modern for a while too.” You gave a small, almost embarrassed shrug. “Once I started university, I couldn’t keep up with that as well.”

“You did ballet?” Jimin’s posture changed instantly. Gone was the teasing flirt; in his place was a dancer, alert and interested. “For how long?”

“A few years,” you said softly. “Nothing professional.”

“That’s still training,” Hoseok said quickly. “Ballet foundation is no joke.”

“You should come by the academy sometime.” Jimin leaned forward, elbows on the table now. “We host workshops all the time. Contemporary, fusion, even ballet crossover sometimes.”

“You’d like it,” Hoseok added, his grin gentler now. “No pressure. Just fun.”

There was no mockery or teasing, just genuine enthusiasm at sharing the same passion. Across from you, Taehyung had gone still again, watching the exchange with thoughtful eyes. Jungkook’s gaze lingered a second longer when you mentioned ballet, as if picturing it. Jin placed another small portion of food onto your plate without interrupting the conversation. Yoongi filled your glass with warm water.

“I’d like to, someday,” you said.

The words sounded agreeable enough, but even to your own ears they lacked certainty. The idea of dancing again felt distant, like something belonging to a version of you that existed before fear carved hollows into your days. Lately, even joy felt exhausting. Reading was easier. Reading was safe. It wasn’t happiness —it was escape. And with how wildly different Namjoon’s book recommendations were, you could disappear completely. Exist between pages instead of inside your own life.

“I’ll go next,” Taehyung announced, lifting the spoon-microphone with dramatic reverence. He sat up straighter, shoulders squaring as though preparing for a performance.

“I am Kim Taehyung. Also, twenty-three. December thirtieth.” He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “I like dancing. I like taking pictures. I like art. I like jazz. I like doing a lot of things.” The enthusiasm in his voice made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

“I heard you paint as well,” you said, warmth returning to your tone. “Have you been working on anything? Can I see some?” For the first time, his energy quieted.

“I haven’t completed the recent piece, it is the closest to my heart,” he admitted, fingers absently tracing the edge of the spoon. “Not with everything that’s happened recently.” You stiffened faintly. The shift in his tone was subtle, but real. The ‘recent happenings’ hung between you like an unspoken understanding. He noticed your reaction and softened immediately. “I’ll finish it soon,” he said, voice low and certain now. His eyes held yours steadily. “You’ll be the first to see it. I promise.”

“Ooh,” Jimin sing-songed. “That’s a privilege.” Taehyung didn’t deny it. He simply smiled.

“Guess it’s my turn,” Namjoon said, taking the spoon with far less flair.

“I’m Kim Namjoon. Twenty-four. September twelfth.” He adjusted his shirt unconsciously as he spoke. “I handle most of the strategic side of the family business. I read a lot. Probably too much.” He smiled faintly. “I enjoy museums, poetry, philosophy.”

“And breaking things.” Jin added helpfully, making the rest chuckle including Namjoon.

He sighed. “It’s not intentional though, only accidental.”

“You recommend books like a literature scholar,” you said softly before you could stop yourself. His eyes flicked to yours, surprised.

“Do I?”

“They’re all very different.” You say, “But immersive.”

Something in his expression shifted, pleased, but contained. “I’m glad.”

Yoongi didn’t reach for the spoon.

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he said simply. “Twenty-five. March ninth.” He leaned back slightly, arms crossing loosely. “I am a doctor. I prefer quiet.” His gaze lifted briefly to you. “Noise gets exhausting.”

“You live with six brothers.” The corner of your mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine you getting much quiet,”

“I said I prefer quiet,” he corrected dryly and you giggle at his correction. You turned to Jungkook, finding absolutely no other way to ignore Jimin who had been pretending to reintroduce himself again, with his spoon-microphone near his face, that Taehyung nearly wrestled out of him and held out to Jungkook. He hesitated a second before taking the spoon from Taehyung.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook. Twenty-one. September first.” His voice was steady, sweeter than expected. “I box and do martial arts.” He shrugs, “I like working out and cooking.” That made sense and you could see it in him, the alertness, the way he tracked movement without appearing to.

He added after a second. “And eat. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Jin scoffed lightly. “You devour the kitchen.”

Jungkook’s ears flushed slightly pink. “Hyung—” You smiled softly at that; it was endearing to see the relationship the brothers seemed to share. Jungkook finished, a little stiff at the attention, and gently set the spoon back in the centre of the table like he was returning something ceremonial. There was a beat of silence.

“Ahem.” Jin reached forward and claimed the spoon with exaggerated dignity. “How rude,” he said lightly, arching a brow at the rest of them. “The eldest nearly forgotten.”

“You were too busy feeding her,” Yoongi muttered and your cheeks heated up. Jin ignored him completely. He straightened in his seat, shoulders rolling back effortlessly. “Kim Seokjin. Twenty-six. December fourth.” His voice carried natural authority, warm, but unmistakably firm. “I oversee the primary operations of our family business.”

“That’s a very vague description,” Namjoon commented mildly.

Jin shot him a look. “It’s intentionally vague.” A ripple of amusement passed around the table. “I also cook,” Jin continued, gesturing lightly toward the spread before you. “Clearly better than some people appreciate.”

“I appreciated it,” you said quietly, gesturing to your empty bowls and plates. His gaze softened.

“Good,” he replied, and there was no teasing in it. “Then my work is done.” He tapped the spoon thoughtfully against his palm. “I enjoy fishing. Traveling when time allows. Collecting recipes from places I visit.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “And making sure everyone eats properly.”

“Especially you,” Hoseok sing-songed, wiggling his eyebrows at you and your blood rushing up to your cheeks again. Jin didn’t deny it. He simply reached over and adjusted your bowl a fraction closer to you, as if the motion alone proved the point. There was something about the way he spoke; less flashy, less bright, less deliberate than the rest. Jin didn’t try to impress. He stated facts. He existed solidly within them. When he finished, he didn’t toss the spoon back dramatically. He placed it gently in your hand.

“Now,” he said quietly, turning slightly toward you, “—continue.” His tone wasn’t pressing. It was steady and supportive, like he was anchoring you before you stepped back into deeper water and so you did.

Seven faces looked at yours, not expectant in a demanding way; just open and curious. You swallowed.

“I am Yoo Ahmi, twenty-one years old.” you began quietly. “I was born in China, but my parents moved around a lot due to my father’s job. He was a Diplomat. So, we barely spent a year in one place. I was homeschooled till university. I’ve lived in China, Japan, Vietnam, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Canada, the UK, Switzerland, France…” You let out a small, almost breathless laugh. “It’s easier to list where I haven’t been.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “That’s incredible.”

“It sounds exciting,” you admitted softly. “But it was mostly temporary. I never stayed long enough to call anywhere home or make any real friends.” Jin’s posture shifted beside you, so slight most wouldn’t notice. But you did. “This is my first time in Korea. Even though I’m Korean.” You gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. “I wanted to finish university in one place. Just once. So, we stayed in—” You named the city quietly. “The plan was always that I’d graduate there and then move to Korea.”

You rolled your eyes faintly, fondness threading through it. “But Appa said we’d spent far too much time away from home. That it was time to return to our roots.” A few of the boys exchanged subtle glances. “I didn’t want to,” you admitted. “But he bribed me. Said we’d build a house that looked exactly like my Pinterest dreams.” A tiny, broken laugh escaped you. “He knew that would work.” You drifted somewhere else for a moment, back to that version of life where the future still felt solid.

“He promised it would finally be ours. So, we packed everything again and moved to Seoul.” Your voice thinned. “We stayed in an apartment while searching for property. And then, we found one.” Your fingers curled into themselves. “It was near the woods. There was a wide stream nearby. The backyard was huge. Omma said we could host summer dinners there. We’d already started unpacking and decorating, pulling things out of boxes.” You swallowed.

“But I never got to actually live in it.” The table had gone completely still. No one touched their food. No one interrupted. “Omma and I went out to buy ingredients to make tteok,” you continued, your throat tightening. “She said if we shared it with the neighbours, it would help us integrate, make a good first impression. It was supposed to be the last move after all, the last beginning.”

Your breathing grew uneven. “We were on our way back when we-we got kidnapped by—” The word wouldn’t come. Your pulse roared in your ears. “By—” Monsters sounded childish. Creatures sounded fictional. Men sounded too human. Your breathing hitched sharply.

Around you, every trace of playfulness vanished. Jin’s hand moved closer to yours, not touching yet. Just there. Yoongi’s jaw set hard. Jungkook’s shoulders squared almost imperceptibly. Hoseok’s brightness extinguished completely. Namjoon’s gaze sharpened with focus. Taehyung and Jimin looked almost unreal in their seriousness, like masks had been stripped away.

“You don’t have to tell us more,” Jin said gently, he put an arm around you, “Not right now.” The silence that followed wasn’t suffocating. It was shielding. And somehow, that made it easier to force the truth out.

“I don’t know what they were,” you breathed, tears spilling despite your effort to stop them. “They were monsters, fangs and sharp nails. They had eyes that weren’t right, it was inhuman.” Your voice trembled violently now. Jin held your hand his, stroking with his thumb, “They bit Omma, drank her blood.” Your hands shook. “They were cruel. There wasn’t just one. There were many. He kept touching me—” Your breath stuttered. “I begged them—him to let us go. I begged them—him to let my mum go.” No one moved.

“They fed on us, over and over.” A sob tore from your chest before you could contain it. “She kept telling me Appa would come, that he’d find us.” Your vision blurred. “He did find us,” you whispered. Jin’s hand finally closed around yours. “But they killed him too.” The words dropped like stones. “They hurt him first. And then they killed him.” Your voice fractured completely now. “The feeding didn’t stop. It just kept happening and happening. And one day… Omma didn’t wake up.” Tears slid off your chin and you sobbed.

“There were many like me,” you continued hollowly. “So many. Some of them died. I kept wondering when it would be my turn.” The room felt smaller, tighter but not because of judgment, but because of fury.

“After Omma—” You blinked hard, as if forcing yourself back into your own body. “I don’t remember much. I remember being bitten. Feeling tired. Dizzy. Restless. Like I wasn’t inside myself anymore.” Your breath trembled on the way out. “And then I woke up here.”

You smiled. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t grateful. It was simply the only expression you could manage when there were no more tears left to fall. The silence that followed was deafening but not fragile, not uncertain.

Jin’s hand remained wrapped around yours, firm and immovable, like the foundation of a house that refused to crack. His thumb pressed once against your knuckles, steady and grounding. Across the table, Yoongi had gone utterly still. Not the relaxed stillness of someone at ease, but the kind that preceded violence. His eyes were dark, flat, calculating. A storm held behind glass. Jungkook’s knuckles had blanched white against the edge of the table. The wood creaked faintly beneath his grip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked near his ear. He hadn’t blinked in several seconds.

Hoseok’s brightness, the laughter, the warmth had vanished entirely. His eyes shone, not with pity, but with something sharper; protective and furious. As though joy itself had been insulted. Namjoon inhaled slowly before speaking, like he was containing something vast and dangerous inside his chest.

“They won’t touch you again,” he said, each word was measured and precise. “We will protect you. At all costs.” It wasn’t a reassurance. It was a vow for them. Across from you, Taehyung’s usual softness had burned away. What remained was something ancient and resolute. His gaze held yours without wavering, emerald jacket catching the light as if nothing about him had changed, yet everything had.

Jimin’s lips had parted slightly, his usual pout and theatrics replaced by something painfully quiet. His eyes shimmered, but he did not look away from you. His softness had hardened, not into coldness, but into promise. Almost all of them were holding back tears, not because they pitied you. But because something in them had shifted irrevocably.

It was one thing to look at victims from a distance; to feel anger at monsters, regret at arriving too late, frustration at the limits of power. It was another thing entirely to watch someone at your own table recount the moment their world was torn apart. To imagine their pack member, because that was what you were, waiting in the dark for death while her parents were slaughtered.

The wolves felt it like a blade through their own ribs. Their hearts, creatures built for battle, for dominance, for protection, softened in a way that startled even them. You had spoken the worst parts aloud. And instead of shattering the room, you had changed it. The air felt different now, heavier but steadier. The grief you had carried alone for weeks, months, perhaps longer than that, no longer echoed into nothingness. It landed here, on the table, in their chests, shared among the seven sets of shoulders that bore it without hesitation.

For the first time since that night, you were not the only one holding the memory of parents’ last breaths. Your grief had witnesses. It had warriors.

You became aware of your own tears only when one slid off your chin and onto your hand. Heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry,” you murmured automatically, voice small. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” Jin’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it was absolute. “Don’t ever apologize for surviving.” The words settled around you like something solid, protective and final.  His arm remained around your shoulders, drawing you slightly closer; not enough to trap you, just enough to steady you. Hoseok silently passed him a napkin, and Jin used it carefully, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as though you were something precious and breakable.

“We’re grateful you shared this with us,” Jin said softly.

Yoongi nudged a glass of water toward you. “Take a sip.” You did. Your hands trembled less than before. The air began to loosen.  Not because what you’d said mattered less, but because they had accepted it and held it.

“You know,” Hoseok said after a moment, clearing his throat lightly, “We were going to get dessert anyway. But now we definitely are.” Jimin’s head snapped toward him.

“Hyung, don’t pretend this isn’t your excuse to empty the hundred-box melona stash you impulse-bought when it went on sale.”

Hoseok gasped. “It was a strategic investment.”

“Can you believe it?” Yoongi deadpanned. “We still have over fifty left.”

“It would’ve been a sin to pass it up!” Hoseok defended, pointing his spoon accusingly. “Do you know how rare that discount was?”

“Maybe Jin-hyung should make a proper dessert,” Jimin mused dramatically. “Like tiramisu. Something fancy.”

“We just ate,” Namjoon pointed out mildly.

“This is clearly an emergency,” Jimin countered without missing a beat. He turned to you, eyes bright again but softer than before. “How do you feel about being tortured with melona, our guest of honour?”

Despite everything, you giggled. It surprised you more than them.

“What do you want, Ahmi-yah?” Jin asked, brushing a stray hair from your face with his thumb.

“I… I don’t know.” You hesitated.

“What’s your favourite dessert? Would you enjoy a Tiramisu?” Jin leaned back slightly, considering. “Proper tiramisu takes time. A few hours to chill and all. Ideally a day.”

“A whole day,” Jungkook repeated, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s 24 hours!”

“Hyung,” Jimin protested, “that is forever for an emergency.”

“I like tiramisu too,” you admitted quietly. “But I can make do with ice cream.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth curved faintly. “I’ll make Tiramisu for you anyway.” He gave you a squeeze, his arm around you still in an embrace.

“Actually…” Namjoon interjected gently, glancing between you and the others. “While we wait for dessert, maybe someone should show Ahmi around properly.”

“The house is big,” Hoseok added. “She hasn’t seen it yet.”

Jimin shot up slightly in his seat. “I volunteer.”

 Taehyung casually adjusted his blazer sleeves, as though this were a diplomatic assignment and said, “I can escort her around as well,”

Jungkook looked at you, and nodded to himself, but didn’t speak, and he didn’t look away either. Yoongi raised a brow at the three of them. Jin studied you carefully, watching your breathing, the way your shoulders had finally relaxed a fraction and then he decided.

“Maknae line.” All three youngest straightened instinctively. “Show her around,” Jin said. His voice was calm, but deliberate. “Slowly, and don’t overwhelm her with your chatter and clutter.”

“Yes, sir!” They saluted, like in military and turned to you.

Jimin grinned softly at you. “Come on. We’ll start with the front door, like any property tour.”

Taehyung stood, offering his hand in an almost courtly gesture. “The scenic route.”

Jungkook moved to your other side without comment, close enough that you’d feel it if you stumbled but not touching. Behind you, the older four remained seated. You hesitated only a second before standing. Jin’s arm slipped from around your shoulders, but his warmth lingered. He gave you one last assessing look, as if confirming you were steady enough on your feet before nodding once.

“Don’t run,” he warned the three youngest calmly.

“We never run,” Jimin replied with immediate offense.

“You absolutely run,” Yoongi muttered.

Taehyung ignored them both, already reaching into the freezer drawer nearby and pulling it open with quiet confidence.

Hoseok gasped. “Don’t take more than four!”

“Hyung,” Jimin scoffed, grabbing one green-wrapped bar and tossing another to Jungkook. “This is an at least a two melona per head event.” Jungkook caught it easily with one hand. He peeled the wrapper halfway down, then paused, waiting for you.

Taehyung selected one carefully and stepped closer, offering it to you with a small flourish. “For the guest of honour.” You chuckled but accepted it, fingers brushing the cold plastic.

Jimin already had his open, dramatically biting into it. “If we disappear for too long, assume we got distracted by the movie room.”

“Or the art room,” Taehyung added lightly.

“Or Jungkook’s obsession with reorganizing the gym,” Jimin whispered loudly.

Jungkook gave him a look. “You’re the one who keeps arranging them wrong.”

“It is aesthetic.” Jimin offered.

“It is stupid.” Jungkook snapped back, pointing his melona at Jimin.

Behind you, Jin shook his head, though there was the faintest curve to his mouth now. “Slowly,” he repeated. “Go,” Jin ordered, though there was no real heat behind it.

Taehyung offered you his arm, to link it, still playing a gentleman. You laughed again, looping your arm with his, as he led you out of the kitchen area. You took a tentative bite of the melona. It was sweet, cold and unexpectedly comforting. The three youngest adjusted their pace without speaking about it, falling into step around you naturally. Jimin slightly ahead, walking backward as he narrated. Taehyung beside you, with his arm linked with yours, matching your stride. Jungkook just half a step behind and to the side, a quiet presence.

As you moved away from the dining area, the hum of the older members’ low voices resumed behind you. But ahead of you was space and light, the open stretch of the living area. Jimin gestured grandly with his half-eaten ice cream. “Welcome to the main living hall. Floor-to-ceiling windows, strong wood beams. Excessive but tasteful.”

Taehyung shot him a look. “You sound like a brochure.”

“I could be,” Jimin replied smoothly. “I also could be a real estate tycoon.”

And just like that, the heaviness in your chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted.

Thus, the Bangtan Packhouse tour began, with the four of you holding melting melonas in your hands.

—next chapter | chapter four

—author's endnote | feedback and thoughts are really appreciated! It keeps me motivated to write more and definitely makes me happy! I hope all of you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

—taglist notes | comment on the post if you want to be tagged. If you are on the taglist but haven’t been notified, please check this post out.

04 March, 2026.

[akshstudios]

Hi, Since You Never Walk Alone is an OT7 story, I am assuming that the OC is everyone's mate. But why does no one else feel the bond yet? I saw another reader ask the same, and I am wondering if she's just going to remain Jin's mate but others' unbonded mate. Is that a possibility? Are you going down this that way?

I love the story so far! and I hope the updates happen soon!

Hello, anon 😅

First and foremost, the oc is destined to bond with every member of the pack, gradually and uniquely. This is an ot7 story, and I want to ensure that every member forms a bond with her —not leaving anyone in an “unbonded mate” dynamic. To me, that wouldn’t feel like a true bangtan x reader story. While the bonds will all happen, they will take time and be triggered by different emotions and circumstances.

Jin’s bond with the oc was an extraordinary case, triggered by the dire need to save her from being burned alive by the very wolves who were meant to be her mates someday. If this vampire incident hadn’t occurred, the bonds would have unfolded differently, starting with another member and evolving more like a modern-day polyandrous relationship. Since this is so early in the story, we haven’t yet explored how the oc would have naturally met the pack and bonded with them under normal circumstances.

The essence of the mate bonds as being tied to the Moon Goddess’s divine timing. Each bond is often triggered by a powerful emotion or cause; something that deeply resonates within the wolf’s heart —I imagine most human-wolf bonds happening in airports, right when someone is about to travel away 😅

Jin’s bond was triggered by the desperate need to save her life. Jin’s bond almost represents a cruel irony —that the wolves nearly burned their own mate.

For the future bonds, and giving a sort of spoiler: each of the other wolves’ bonds will also be ignited by a strong emotional connection or moment: a protective instinct, emotional vulnerability, the relief of knowing she’s safe, a friendship deepening into something more, the ache of yearning, or simply pure, selfless love all of which begins with a spark of infatuation that happens once they meet her.

We’ll delve into those moments as the story unfolds. Each bond will have its own timing and its own story, reflecting the uniqueness of the pack and the oc’s relationships with each of them.

In the YNWA universe, mate bonds are an enigmatic phenomenon, deeply tied to the moon’s magic. Revered and sacred, they defy logic and understanding, existing far beyond the grasp of science or reason. Researchers have studied patterns, triggers, and trends, but no definitive explanation for how or why bonds form has ever been discovered. They simply happen as a reflection of deeper truths or needs that transcend comprehension of a simple human/wolf mind. There are certain things that are said to trigger a bond, but if the bond doesn't get triggered, you'd have gone too far with someone who is not your mate. So, trying to trigger a bond is often discouraged. Though, many wolves indulge in healthy amounts of flirting, platonic skinship etc.

For most wolves, bonds develop gradually. They often begin like any human relationship —through attraction, friendship, proximity, or even platonic companionship. A bond might not manifest immediately but could suddenly appear, reshaping the relationship overnight. The connection is like a fine thread, delicate and unnoticed at first, but over time, it can weave into a rope of unbreakable fibers, symbolizing the deepening and strengthening of the bond.

Sometimes, though rarely, bonds defy this gradual process and strike like lightning. A sudden realization, a singular moment of shared vulnerability, or an inexplicable pull can forge an immediate connection. This is what makes Jin’s first-sight bond so extraordinary. In a world where such bonds are almost unheard of, his experience is an anomaly, a sacred event that draws both curiosity and awe. For Jin, the thread didn’t take years to weave into a strong rope; it was already fully formed the moment he laid eyes on the oc.

While this is deeply significant to Jin, the rest of the pack views it differently. They respect the moon’s will and the mystery of its magic. To them, bonds are deeply personal and unpredictable, and Jin’s bond doesn’t necessarily mean the oc will bond with the rest of them. Polyamorous bonds, while more common among packs are just as unpredictable. A single person might bond with an entire pack, or the pack could divide into smaller clusters, each forming separate connections. In some cases, all members of a pack bond with the same person except one; instead, they find another mate.

The process is never rushed or forced. Wolves understand that bonds are not about science or choice but about trust in the moon’s guidance. Proximity, emotional closeness, skinship, and human feelings may encourage bonds to form, but they don’t guarantee them. Bonds happen when—and if—they’re meant to, and wolves know better than to question their timing.

For now, the pack approaches Jin’s bond with curiosity rather than assumptions. His connection to the oc is rare, even sacred: plus, the unfortunate situation of the bond and how they found her makes it hard for them to view it as a sign of an inevitable polyandrous relationship. Instead, they chose to remain open-minded, allowing time, proximity and shared experiences to reveal the moon’s will. As they spend time with the oc, dynamics will evolve, shifting in ways they cannot predict. Bonds will form between the oc and other pack members but Jin’s bond of first sight is gonna remain singular and unique.

From the universe's point of view, it is this uncertainty that makes mate bonds so profound. Whether gradual or instantaneous, they are deeply personal and sacred, bound by magic that no wolf truly understands. They trust in the journey, in the mysterious thread that connects them all, knowing that only time will reveal how their stories are meant to intertwine.

P.S.: I’d love to hear your thoughts on who you think will bond with the oc next! Feel free to share your predictions about the bonding order —who’s next, who follows after, and why you think so. I’m genuinely excited to know your guesses and see how they line up with the journey I have in mind!

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

Hello there :)! I hope you're doing well. Idk where to start or anything but still I wish you're okay. Do you mind telling us a "lil" bit of when you're going to upload "You never walk alone"? It's such a good fiction and I've re-read it again again for like 30 times now 😭, you haven't been active so just wanted to make sure. Are you gonna upload it?

Hello Hi, dear anon 🥺

I have updated the second chapter of You Never Walk Alone today. I hope you like it and I'm not sure if you are still actively waiting because I've been gone for so long 🥺 but I still hope you get to see this and I hope to complete the story.. no matter how long it takes, but as of now I'm back.

And thank you so much for your kind words 💜

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

You Never Walk Alone | BTS

Chapter Two of You Never Walk Alone can be found here 💜

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[akshstudios]

Hi, first off : i love your fanfics, you’re an amazing storyteller and I fell in love with thé Lily of Bangtan. Do you plan on continuing the story ? I loved every bits of it !

Have a nice week, I hope you’re doing well :)

Hello, dear anon 🥺

Yes, I am going to complete the stories —just not sure if I can complete it in one go. As of bow, I have updated the second chapter of another story called You Never Walk Alone, and planning to update the next chapter of Lily Of Bangtan in the upcoming week.

Thank you so much for your kind words 🥺🥰 Trust me, I've read you ask a hundred times already 💗 and I hope you enjoy what's coming for the stories next 😊

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

When are you going to finish this story? Would love to know what happens next 😁

Hello hello, dear anon 🥺

If you are talking about You Never Walk Alone or The Lily Of Bangtan, I'm planning to write more chapters for them soon. The second chapter of You Never Walk Alone has been updated. The next chapter of Lily Of Bangtan will be updated hopefully by the next week if all things go well.

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

Heyy! Idk if you're still here but I hope you're doing alright! It's been a while, hasn't it? -🦚

Hi, 🦚 anon.

I'm doing well —have answered your other ask as well 🥺 Thank you so much for dropping by to check on me 🫠 You are truly an angel and I hope 2025 is going well so far for you 💗

I hope we can continue to be friends 🥺

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

Heyy! I finally got around to reading "you never walk alone" and your writing seriously blows me away. Reading the 4th chapter of Lily of Bangtan, I realised that the next chapter is gonna be the wedding, where I assume Saera and Jin will meet. Another variable that I hadn't really given much thought is Jin's current wife, Yeojin. What's the deal with the two of them? Also why exactly can't Jangmi and Tae talk to each other? I mean they are already engaged. Sorry if this seems kinda dumb — 🦚

Hello hello, dearie 🦚 anon 🤩 I hope you are having a great week so far ♥️

First off, I'm absolutely ashamed at having vanished out of here, but life has been such a rollercoaster ride the past year or so that I didn't find the mind space to come on here, much less work on any writing. I apologise and I'll try to do better. Moving on.. 😬

You Never Walk Alone is my baby 😂 ✨my first-born✨ and it's my longest brain-dwelling story ♥️ I can't truly wait to write more 🥺 I have some ✨ ideas✨ for it and I'm going to have fun writing it 😉 The second chapter has been updated today, so I hope you like it 🥰

And as for Jin and Yeojin, they are the better, slightly safer, questionably healthy example of bangtan-marriage-gone-wrong.

Yeojin is a pretty important negative character. If she wasn't there, Jin and Saera would've had a very, very different road to being married. There's a lot to unpack in their past —but it has been a while since they met, so you are right 🤩 they are going to meet again at the wedding.

At one point, Jin and Saera could have been even considered close friends but now, there's too many cracks in their bond to be considered a friendship anymore.

They will remain amicable of course, but there's a lot of unsaid words between them to get into all this comfortably 🤐

To Taehyung and Jangmi now.

In Bangtan, long engagements don't really exist —the main reason being that the couple get too curious, impatient, do the deed and fail during the sheet ceremony. I think I'll highlight it during the sixth chapter but the Sheet Ceremony is the final step to becoming the mafia man's wife. If you don't prove that you have remained pure for the wedding night, you are not accepted into the family.

Again, this is a pretty stupid way they handle things —First, if an engaged couple does it consensually, it shouldn't be a problem but lacking patience and self-control isn't really a good look for the mafia, is it?

Now, failing the sheet ceremony isn't a big deal for the man —because let's be honest, no man in Bangtan gets married as a virgin and there's no unscientific way to prove that he is pure. But, for a woman, her purity is determined in the most unscientific possible and not passing this test, is the end of her life. Not the best way to handle it, but this is how it's done in Bangtan.

During the engagement period, dates and talking to them etc used to be heavily frowned up on when the current Don was younger. When the current Don took over, dates were allowed but with chaperones. Over the last decade or so, a date or two after the engagement, exchanging numbers and interacting at social gatherings and at the soon-to-be bride's home is accepted, even expected by the brides.

Taehyung and Jangmi are the longest engaged couple in Bangtan, but the interest in this marriage or engagement is heavily one-sided. Plus, Jangmi is studying abroad; Taehyung specifically takes up missions that ensure he stays in Korea and keeps himself busy.

They went on one date right after the engagement and a few phone calls after that, but Taehyung's lack of interest was enough to curb Jangmi's overwhelming interest 😶

So, as of now there's no dates, no calls, Jangmi had his number, but is always too scared to text him or call him. This is also why she heavily relies on Nari for her daily Taehyung updates.

The relationship is complicated at best, and I hope this mess of an answer to your question keeps you satiated enough till I actually write their story 😇

None of the question are dumb —I love that you are asking questions, makes me very very very happy 😍 so please keep them coming 🫠

I hope you can forgive my long long absence and we can be friends again 💜

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

When are you going to update you never walk alone??

Hello hello, anon 😊

The second chapter of You Never Walk Alone has been updated today! I'm hoping that I'll update the third chapter after finishing up the 2 chapters I have planned for my other fics. As for now, please enjoy reading the chapter two of You Never Walk Alone.

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

Hiii, i just wanted to ask when the next chapter of ‘The Lily of bangtan’ will be up? I looking really forward to it! Also i’m a big fan of your work!! <3

Hi, @puffyxpeach 🥺

Thank you so much 🥺 I'm back to writing again after ages, so I'm hoping to finish The Lily of Bangtan's next chapter soon! As of today, I've updated the second chapter of You Never Walk Alone. I'm hoping and praying I find the time and motivation to continue writing and posting. And, I hope the wait feels worth it for the next chapter if Lily Of Bangtan 🥺

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

Heyy! I hope you're doing well🥺💜

Hello hello, dear anon 🥺

I am doing better, thank you so much for asking! I hope I continue to do better and hopefully 2025 is kinder to me than 2024. Anyways, I'm looking forward to do a lot of things I've given up on in the past few years, so here I am ✨️

I hope you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

You Never Walk Alone | BTS

—pairing | werewolf!bts × you (fem!reader)

—chapter two | within bangtan’s embrace: dashing savior and the goddess’ blessing

—collection | ot7!bts × reader stories

—story masterlist | you never walk alone

—previous chapter | chapter one

—genre | werewolf au × mate au × supernatural au × strangers to lovers au ( angst × romance × fluff × supernatural )

—rating | mature-rated

—warnings | vampires exist. mentions of blood. consumption of blood and human remains. human body mutilation. badly written action scenes. death of loved ones. talks about insanity, cults, mass-psychosis and serial killings. the reader is found extremely hurt and almost dead. bites are a constant mention.

—author’s forenote | i am sorry for being away, life was fucked in all areas. for now, think of this as an apology, and enjoy! a bit of a filler chapter, speed-running through recovery, and slightly jin-focused. please let me know what you think.

—chapter summary | what happens after jin finds you till you are recovered enough to meet all the boys.

"She's my mate."

Jin's body shakes in anguish as he pulls you to him, trying to comfort you with his warmth, repeating himself over and over again.

"She's my mate!" He howled and screamed in pain. He sobs harder, trying to warm you and caressing your cheek to wake you up somehow.

"Lo-love, wake up," He cries harder, tears falling over your skin. "Please, wake up."

Hoseok stands behind Jin, stunned for a few good seconds before he's had the mind to reach out to his brothers through his mind-link.

The boys on the other side are in a state of utter panic at not being able to reach the two.

"We can't reach Jin-Hyung! Is he okay?"

"What happened?"

"Are you alright?

"Did you get attacked?"

"Why can't we reach Jin-Hyung?"

"Is Jin-Hyung okay? Are you okay?"

His brothers were yelling through the link. He's almost sure some have already entered the building, trying to reach them.

"What happened to him?! His scent and heart are going crazy!" Jimin sounded anxious, "I'm coming in."

"Jin-Hyung," Hoseok takes a breath, "—he-he found his mate." Hoseok relays through the mind-link, "We need you here, Yoongi-Hyung. She—" He pauses before continuing again, "She looks dead." He winced, the thought sending his mind on a wild negative drive.

"I'm already inside, stay exactly where you are!" Yoongi demands, led inside by Jimin, following Jin's distressed scent and throwing quick orders for the boys outside.

"What?!" Hoseok recognized Jungkook's voice, "Is she—" The youngest wolf stopped himself from continuing the question.

"She looks dead," Hoseok sighs, throat heavy and dry, eyes running over his brother and you, "—and I can't pinpoint anything more."

"Hyung!" Jimin burst into the room, running up to the two, "Are you okay?" He kneels beside Jin, throwing an arm around his shoulder, concerned at the way Jin's scent was seeping distress.

"She-she won't wake up, Jimin-ah." Jin sobs, face red, and tears down his face. "She-she won't respond," He continues, still cradling your body to his chest, he turns to Yoongi, the only trained medical professional among them. "Why won't she open her eyes? Why won't she respond?"

Jimin looks at you and his stomach drops. You didn't look like you'd make it out of this and he felt his eyes tear up, heart clenching in pain for you two.

What would happen to his Hyung if you passed away?

"Is-" Jin sobs harder, more tears falling, "Is she okay?" He looks at Yoongi, pulling him down to you.

"Let me see, yeah, Hyung?" Yoongi assures him softly; afraid any harsh action would set him off. He carefully crouches down next to your limp body, taking note of your shackled limbs and the vicious bite marks all over your body.

Yoongi already feels his heart clench in pain, eyes unusually tearing up as he sees your lifeless frame. You didn't look and smell alive. Yoongi's hands are clammy and shaky as he takes your hand to check your pulse and takes a whiff of your bitten wrist.

Your scent was clouded by the stench of the place you were held in and many other unpleasant scents. Your pulse was weak and you barely smelled human. Your breath was shallow, lips cracked, your skin dry, and your hair matted. Your body was struggling to keep you alive at this point.

From what he can see, you were severely starved and abused. You were bitten and fed to the brink of death. There were no large, gaping wounds which should mean all your organs were intact.

He prays all your organs are intact because that could be a whole new problem to solve. As he checks on you, he takes glances at Jin who was vibrating holding you, his canines now having grown longer, peeking out. His eyes are completely golden, the flickering is gone.

Yoongi needs to think and act fast. If he wasted any more time, Jin would go on a rage-hunt.

"She's barely holding on," He mind-links his brothers, careful not to let Jin in, "We need to hurry the fuck up."

"What happened?" Jin breathes, shaking and trembling. His voice is deep, rounding on growls and animalistic. "Will she be okay?"

The chances honestly were low, but he couldn't let Jin know. Jin and the distress of his mate bond could cost lives at this point.

"Let's get her out of here, yeah?" Yoongi strokes his arm, trying to calm him down. "We need to get her out of here," He tells Jin again, "Can you lift her?" Jin nods, lifting you with no words, completely forgetting the shackles in your limbs.

"Wait-wait," Yoongi and Jimin stopped him from running out and unintentionally hurting you more, "Let's get this away," Jimin said, using all his strength to break them, Hoseok and Yoongi joined in and took the last ones off.

"Let's get her to the pack infirmary," Yoongi told Jin and as Jin ran out, careful not to hurt you, he mind-linked the boys.

"Keep the van ready and the Head Salutary on call," Yoongi barks at the other boys. "Tell them to have anti-venoms and other supplies at the pack infirmary —we can't treat her with the rest if things go wrong..." Yoongi took a pause, "Hyung can massacre them all." He continued gravely, giving more instructions to everyone.

Everyone in the conversation understood the implications of the instructions Suga was giving them. Jin was in a very dangerous mindset, if anything happened to you —Jin could and would kill everyone regardless of who they were. Jin was probably already in his wolf's mind, the animal overtaking his body, and unable to think straight.

They could only imagine the kind of emotions coursing through him —finding the love of your life in a near-dead state, having been through severe abuse, and the fear of losing someone so dear to you without a word to them.

Why was Moon Goddess so cruel to their Hyung? Why was this happening to him, when he was probably the one who believed in her abilities and loved them the most?

When they saw Jin carry you out, they all got into the vehicle, Jungkook helping Jin place you on the stretcher in the van. Jin growls at his brothers as they close the door and it hits the stretcher, making it hit the seat ahead.

All of them noticed how his eyes were golden, his canines and nails were long and pointy, and his skin was taut and sweaty —like he was minutes away from shifting into a wolf. The growls and pulsing of his veins alone were proof that if they didn't do something, Jin was going to go crazy before they even reached the pack house.

As they drive out, Yoongi sends one last message to Namjoon.

"Tell them to keep a heavy dose of sedation ready just in case," Yoongi said, "—for Jin-Hyung."

At the pack infirmary, the healers were doing their best to follow their Alphas' instructions. All the drugs and medical supplies were set in the medical unit, the Head Salutary, Chaewon was sending away wolves that didn't need to be there and instructing only few of the strongest warriors and healers on your treatment and the course of action in case Jin needed to be sedated.

According to the Yoongi, it was better to ambush him and sedate him as soon as he arrives because if they waited for him to listen to them —they'd never get the job done. The Healers agreed with the Alpha. Jin was too strong for them on a normal day when he was determined and with his disturbing emotions, the alpha will be physically impossible for them to hold back.

Chaewon was not okay with that at all; she wanted to have Jin conscious and present while they worked on you, because she feared trauma on him and the bond. The days following the bonding was so fragile, special and very important for the newly bonded pair. The bond really depended on these initial days to blossom, to settle in, to prosper for the pair to have a happy life ahead.

Finding you the way he did itself was going to cause so much harm to Jin and his wolf’s mental health, Chaewon couldn’t fathom the wreck his wolf would be in case Jin was unconscious right after finding you, without any consolation that you were doing better at least. Chaewon wanted Jin to see that his mate was safe now, she was being treated and that she would heal. And in the case that things went south, sedation would be considered.

She prayed that you weren't in a very bad shape and that whatever happens next, happens smoothly without many problems. The wolves stood at the entrance of the pack compound, praying to the Moon Goddess for your health and safety. They needed you to be strong and safe for Jin to be the same. If you didn't make it out today, Jin wouldn't too and they didn't want to lose their pack member to the pain of losing their mate.

The loud honks of the vehicle pulled them out of their prayer and they ran straight to the stretcher being pulled out and wheeled in, ignoring Jin's loud growls and whimpers. Their hair stood straight, bodies shaking in fear as their usually chirpy, happy alpha growled viciously at the wolves who opened the door.

“Let him take her inside,” Yoongi mind-linked them to stay away, “Let’s wait –stay away till I give you any instruction.”

He ran straight to the bed inside the unit, placing you gently on the bed, kneeling right next to it –whimpering and begging the Head Salutary, “Ajhumma, Ajhumma, please- She-She’s not waking up,” He held your cold hand in his warm ones, tugging the older lady’s scrubs, “Please help her, please heal her,” He sobbed, whimpering more. “Please, she’s my mate—” He cried, tears choking him, “I can’t lose her, please-”

“Jin-ah,” Chaewon kneeled next to him, “Sweetie, you need to believe in her, yeah?” She caressed his hair, “She’ll get through this, but for that I need you to be strong, okay?” Jin only sobbed, his golden eyes on your frail body. “I need you to let us handle this, I swear by the Moon Goddess we won’t let her go, okay? Let us help, trust us— ”

“Please, save her— ” Jin was beyond consolable, but somehow found the strength to cry and nod his agreement, “I’ll do as you say, please— ” Chaewon gave him a small smile, getting up to see that the healers were at work already.

Yoongi who had followed Jin right behind, had already instructed the healers to check for your blood type and to begin transfusing blood, asking to have your injuries cleaned and medicated —and adding more treatments and tests that needed to be run.

The next 24 hours were very crucial for you and in a way, for Jin as well.

Jin had stuck to his word to not cause distress and by your side, eyes never leaving you as the tests were being done, as the wounds were cleaned and medicated, as the blood was transfused, as the anti-venoms were injected, and as you were oxygenated. He even stayed by your side as Chaewon cut out your filthy clothes, cleaned you and put you into hospital gown. Chaewon smiled gently as she saw Jin close his eyes and she changed your clothes, her heart tugging at the sweet gesture of the Alpha.

Jin had a few minor wounds too, which Chaewon tried to dress but was dismissed because you needed help more than him. It was evening the next day when Chaewon and Yoongi sighed a breath of relief at how things went. Jin had been an angel throughout, though an anxious and cautious one. You had stayed stronger than anyone could expect you to be, your vitals very stable for someone who was at the brink of death last night. Your multiple wounds were medicated, doses of anti-venom, blood and electrolytes already in your system plus the ongoing IV and the oxygen mask only adding strength to your bettering health.

“Jin-Hyung,” Yoongi called him, hand on his shoulder, “We’ll be back yeah? The boys are waiting outside since last night, they wanna see you and your mate, we’ll also need to give them an update,” Jin nodded at Yoongi, murmuring an okay.

Yoongi and Chaewon had stepped out, only to be ambushed by the Alphas.

“Is Jin-Hyung okay?”

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll live right? Jin-Hyung will live right?”

“There’s no lasting health concern for both of them, right?”

Many such questions were thrown their way, and Chaewon shushed them, taking them away from the room. She didn’t want Jin’s heightened hearing to pick up anything and to trigger him.

“Jin-Hyung is stable, and her condition is stable –miraculous for someone who was in the state she was.” Yoongi said, sighing in relief, “I wouldn’t say she is all okay, but she is definitely healing at a much faster pace than I ever anticipated.”

“What has happened with her exactly?” Hoseok asked, “She was a mess when I first saw her –It’s a miracle Jin-Hyung found her natural scent when she’s covered in all the vampire filth and dirt.”

“Yeah, she smells more vampire than human,” Jimin piqued, “She… is human, right?”

“She is human,” Yoongi said, “She’s been fed on and has been captive among them in such horrendous conditions for long enough that it masked her scent, that’s all.”

“She’s all in one piece, right?” Taehyung asked hearing ‘fed on’, remembering finding some bodies with missing organs.

“Yeah,” Chaewon gave a small smile, “Her organs are intact,”

“But that just raises more questions—” Hoseok started, “What was she doing there? If she was kidnapped as a feed, why was she held captive for so long? All the captives we found alive were kidnapped in the last few days, she looks like she was there for weeks minimum.”

“We can’t actually conclude much on the circumstances of her capture without her telling us, but—” Chaewon said, “But in my opinion, I think she was kept alive to make sure she produced enough blood to keep the supply going.” The boys collectively winced, feeling their stomach drop at the words, “She was definitely physically abused, seen by the multiple wounds all over her body, fed on multiple times, seen by the bite marks on her neck, wrists and calves and ankles, starved and made to live in horrible conditions by those monsters.”

“They didn’t keep her around because they liked her,” Yoongi continued, “They kept her around to harm her. Rest assured, Jin-Hyung isn’t bonded to a perpetrator, but a victim.” The boys nodded, even looking a little embarrassed and guilty.

“When can we expect her to wake up?” Namjoon asked.

“In a week or two maybe,” Chaewon said, “But then again, this is assuming she’ll heal at a very stable and quick pace. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.”

“Will she be kept here till she wakes up?” Hoseok asked, “Jin Hyung needs rest, I don’t think he’ll get any if he’s here.”

“We’ll be keeping track of how well she’s faring with the treatment, I think we should be able to move her to your packhouse, preferably to Jin’s room, once she’s stable enough to not need breath support.” Chaewon smiled, “It’ll calm down Jin too, I think –to have his mate, in his den. It’ll do well for both of them.”

“I know there’s a lot of questions and uncertainties around this,” Chaewon sighed continuing, “But I think you need to trust in the Moon Goddess that she’ll not put any of us in harm’s way. For now, she’s Jin’s mate, a human and in desperate need of our help. Treat her with the same kindness you’ll treat Jin with.”

“We will,” Namjoon smiled at her, “We wouldn’t treat her bad—”

“I know, let her heal and wake up, I think all your questions will vanish when that happens.” Chaewon smiled, “Go and meet your Hyung now and then, get some food and rest.” She told the boys, “I have assigned some healers to her, they’ll be here overnight. I’m always a call away, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The boys bid the lady bye and stood in silence thinking about what they heard.

“Let’s get in and meet Jin-Hyung,” Yoongi told his brothers. He knew how restless their wolves were, from all the fear and uncertainty drowning their oldest brother.  Seeing him, talking to him and making sure he’s okay would definitely settle their nerves after all that’s happened.

Yoongi led his brothers in, mind-linking them to not hover over Jin, but give him space and let him choose to respond or ignore. Bangtan chorused an agreement, cautiously stepping inside the room. Their eyes first fell on you, attached to medical equipment and their eldest Hyung, holding your hand in his, elbows on the bed, sitting on a chair. He looked tired, eyes swollen, face still red and his scent drenched in gloom and permeating the room. He didn’t look at them, only making a sound when they called for him.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked voice on the brink of tears. Jin made a sound, suspiciously sounding like yeah. “Is your mate okay?” He continued and was met with silence.

“Her condition is stable,” Yoongi told Jungkook –more like to Jin to reassure him, “I am going to freshen up, I think we all should,” He glanced at the rest, still in their bloodied and soiled clothes.

Namjoon sighed, “We should also inform the pack leaders about everything that has happened and ask them to intimate the necessary details to the WSO.”

“Can’t we stay with Hyung instead?” Taehyung asked, Jimin adding, “He looks so broken, I don’t wanna leave him alone.”

“We can come back in,” Hoseok consoled the younger ones, “Let’s give them some alone time.”

It was truly a tough day for Bangtan –Jin might be the one who found his mate in a near-dead condition and going through the traumatic situation, but as his brother, their wolves were linked and while they didn’t feel all the pain he was feeling, they still were burdened with the pain he was feeling. And, truth be told, that burdening feeling was suffocating.

But they also knew, they couldn’t let themselves be crushed. They had to be strong for their Hyung, and for you. You were a pack member now; your healing and health was their responsibility. They had a hundred questions for you, but that could wait till you were all okay to answer them.

You were moved to the Bangtan packhouse a few days into your treatment. You were off breath support and a little colour had returned your skin and your vitals were strong and stable.

Jin was elated to have you home, in his den. He had rushed to the packhouse after never leaving your side since finding you –to clean up his room to make it comfortable for you. He changed his usual sheets to the softest linens he could find; he cleaned his room he hadn’t returned to in days, he set everything up so that when you wake up, you’d be the most comfortable.

He had made all his brothers stay with you while he came to the packhouse, telling them to call him and the healers if they felt anything was off. The boys had assured him they would, and that they’d even have Chaewon in the room with them, if it made Jin feel safe enough to drive home and get things done. Jin had given them a grateful smile, the first one in days.

“Hyung~” The youngest suddenly bawled, and threw himself on Jin, startling the older boy. Before Jin could say anything, Jimin and V had thrown themselves on Jin as well, in a weird hug situation.

“Yah! Yah! Yah!” Jin exclaimed, “What is wrong with you three?” He shouted, but holding them in a hug nevertheless, somehow feeling that they probably needed it.

“We are so glad you are okay!” Jungkook sobbed, eyes full of tears and voice choking, “and-and your mate.”

Jin softened, suddenly realising what this was about. He did know he wasn’t acting himself the past few days, but it must’ve been on a different level if his younger brothers are so shaken.

“I’m okay,” He reassured them, hugging them tighter, “I’m sure my mate will be okay as well.” The three nodded, and Jin let them go, wiping their tears, as if they are still little kids and ruffling their hair like he always did when they were kids.

Just as he moved away, Hoseok shouted, “Group hug!” and Jin finds himself crushed in a hug again.

Finding Jin cooking breakfast had become a rare sight these days. Mornings, for him, were usually reserved for attending to your needs—giving you sponge baths, untangling your hair, and whispering gentle reassurances as you lay unconscious. His absence from the kitchen had certainly not gone unnoticed.

"Good morning," Yoongi greeted as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping abruptly in his tracks. His eyebrow quirked at the sight of Jin, who stood with his back to the room, entirely focused on the stove. "What are you cooking?"

"Good morning, everyone~" Hoseok’s voice rang out as he entered the kitchen and stopped short. His eyes widened in surprise. "What’s this? Back to being the chef of the house?"

Jin didn’t even look up, his attention solely on the pot in front of him. "Good morning," he replied nonchalantly. "Love can’t handle heavy meals first thing in the morning, right? So, I’m making juk." He added with a hint of excitement, "She’s going to wake up today!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I just do," Jin answered with unshakable certainty. His tone left no room for argument. "She’ll be hungry, but heavy food isn’t an option. Juk is gentle on her stomach, yet nourishing. Once I know what she likes, I’ll make meals to help her recover faster."

"Did the guys bring the groceries yet?" Jin asked, his eyes scanning the kitchen for the younger members. "I asked the farmers to drop off some dongchimi and white kimchi."

On seeing the puzzled expressions on the others’ faces, Jin explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Side dishes for Love. She can’t handle spice; you all know that!"

Living on the outskirts meant their groceries came fresh daily from local farms. The delivery—earthy vegetables, fragrant herbs, fresh cuts of meat, and a mix of side dishes—was part of their commitment to supporting the nearby farming community. The responsibility of handling and storing everything fell to the younger three, a task they shared.

Just then, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin’s voices echoed through the back door, the sound of boxes being carried signalling their arrival.

“Your grocery delivery is here~” they chorused, laughter in their voices over an inside joke only they shared.

"Jimin-ah," Jin called, looking over at the younger member. "Serve the dongchimi and white kimchi in the side dish plates, please."

"Yes, sir!" Jimin saluted with a grin. "One serving of dongchimi and white kimchi coming right up!"

"And pass me the eggs," Jin requested from Taehyung, who was carrying the carton of eggs.

"Are you making gyeran-jjim?" Taehyung asked, watching intently as Jin set a stone bowl on the stove.

"Yes," Jin replied, adding casually, "Protein for muscle growth. She’s lost so much weight already." His focus on you was unwavering.

Jungkook, who was carefully organizing vegetables in the crisper, couldn’t help but overhear as Jin spoke so fondly of you. His curiosity had been bubbling ever since you were brought back, and hearing Jin speak with such certainty about you only deepened his intrigue.

Jimin, unloading other side dishes, raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's sudden stillness. "Eavesdropping again, Kookie?" he teased, placing lids onto containers before putting them away.

Taehyung, wiping fruit gently with a cloth, chuckled softly. "Can you blame him? It’s not every day we see Jin-hyung this smitten. It’s kind of adorable."

Jungkook shrugged, feigning indifference, though his eyes betrayed his interest. "I mean… He’s been walking on air since she woke up. You’d think she invented soup the way he’s been raving about her."

Taehyung let out a rich, warm laugh. "To be fair, it’s been a while since we’ve seen him this happy. If his mate’s the reason for that, I say let him have his moment."

Jimin nodded in agreement, his smile softening. "It’s nice, isn’t it? After everything that’s happened, seeing him like this feels... hopeful." The kitchen fell into a companionable silence, the rhythmic sounds of unpacking groceries filling the space.

“Hyung,” Jungkook began hesitantly, his voice tinged with curiosity, “this isn’t the first time you’ve just… known something about her.”

"Hyung’s gone full psychic mode since meeting his mate," Jimin teased with a grin, entering the kitchen with a fresh batch of washed cabbage.

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. "Like when you insisted the healers move her to a quieter room because you said she couldn’t rest properly with all the noise."

"And when you said the IV was too uncomfortable for her," Jimin added as he placed rice in a washbowl.

"Or when you noticed she was getting joint stiffness," Taehyung continued, a mix of awe and exasperation in his voice. "How do you even know that through a bond?!"

Jin didn’t stop stirring, but he glanced up with a shrug. "I feel it," he said simply. "Her discomfort, her unease—it’s like it runs through me too."

"Hyung’s definitely more tuned in," Namjoon said, walking into the kitchen with a book tucked under his arm. He gestured toward the pile of freshly laundered blankets on the table. "You changed her sheets again yesterday, didn’t you?"

"She needed them changed," Jin replied matter-of-factly. "Her skin is sensitive, and the old ones were beginning to irritate her."

Namjoon exchanged a look with Yoongi, both curious. "It’s fascinating, honestly. There’s so little research about human-wolf bonds. What you’re describing feels like an extreme extension of the mate bond."

"Maybe it’s enhanced by her condition," Yoongi suggested, his gaze lingering on Jin.

"Or," Jimin said with a teasing grin, "Maybe it’s just Hyung being hopelessly smitten." He pulled out a chair and sat, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hopelessly devoted," Taehyung corrected. His voice was warm, his tone teasing yet fond. "It’s kind of sweet, though. Seeing Hyung all flustered for once."

Jungkook smirked, "I mean, he did demand the healers bring in a softer IV, custom-made, just for her. That’s next-level dedication."

Jin shot them a pointed look, though there was no heat in it. "Laugh all you want, but she deserves the best care. I’d do it all again."

"Of course you would," Hoseok said with a small smile. "It’s what makes you, you, Hyung. But seriously, is this… heightened connection going to fade when she wakes up? Or will it stay like this?"

Jin set the spoon down and leaned against the counter, his expression softening.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "Maybe it’ll change, maybe it won’t. But what matters is that she’s comfortable, happy, and healthy. That’s all I care about."

Namjoon leaned against the counter, deep in thought. "The mate bond is supposed to connect emotions, maybe intentions, but this…" He gestured toward Jin. "This feels like more than that. You’re reading her like an open book."

Jin finally turned to face them; his features softer than they’d ever seen. "Maybe it’s because she’s human," he suggested quietly. "Or maybe it’s because she’s in this state. I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever she needs, whether it’s adjusting her room’s temperature, helping with her muscles, or cooking for her."

Jimin crossed his arms, his curiosity piqued. "Do you think this connection will change once she wakes up? Will it fade to the usual mate bond we’re used to seeing?"

"I don’t know," Jin admitted, but his tone was firm, resolute. "And I don’t care. As long as she’s comfortable, I’ll adapt."

Yoongi exchanged a glance with Jimin, unspoken questions lingering between them. While human-wolf bonds had been rare, they’d existed before. But what Jin was experiencing felt unprecedented.

A sudden, subtle shift in Jin’s demeanour caught everyone’s attention. He straightened, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

"She’s up." His voice was barely a whisper, but the certainty in it was undeniable.

"What?" Yoongi asked, startled. Jin didn’t answer, but the excitement and happiness wafted off him. Without another word, he brushed past them, heading toward the stairs with purpose. The boys watched him go, a quiet understanding passing between them.

“Well," Namjoon said after a beat, breaking the silence, "I guess that confirms it."

"Confirms what?" Taehyung asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That the bond really is something else," Namjoon said in awe. "He’s connected to her in ways we don’t fully understand."

"Either that," Jimin teased with a grin, "Or he’s officially lost it."

Taehyung smiled warmly, his voice full of affection as he murmured, "I think it’s kind of beautiful."

The clean smell of the place you were in is the first thing you notice when you regain consciousness. Your eyes sting a bit at the sudden bright light streaming inside, and you squint them shut, whimpering a little as the pain begins to engulf your body. The soft sheets rubbing against your skin are only a little overwhelming, adding to the sensation of discomfort. Your heart begins to race, and despite your best efforts to calm yourself, the feeling of helplessness tightens around your chest.

You take deep breaths, trying to ease the pain away, but the pressure in your chest grows stronger with each passing second. Slowly, you begin to move your fingers, toes, and limbs, testing them one by one. A dull ache lingers in your joints, but it's manageable. That is, until you try to sit up. That's when you notice the IV attached to your hand, and a sharp pain shoots up your arm. The sudden sensation causes panic to spike within you, making you sit upright and your breath hitches, becoming shallow and erratic. Your heartbeat quickens, and your vision begins to blur.

You can’t control the rising tide of panic. It spreads through your body like wildfire, and your chest tightens painfully, making it hard to breathe. Every muscle seems to seize with tension, and a quiet whimper escapes your throat. You desperately try to pull away from the IV, but your hands feel too weak, your body too uncooperative.

The room spins, and the soft sheets suddenly feel suffocating, too heavy against your skin. You try to blink away the tears welling in your eyes, but they come anyway, and soon, you're trembling uncontrollably. The panic is taking hold, and you don’t know how to stop it. You just want to get away, to run, to escape the tight grip of fear wrapping around you. You shut your eyes hard and try to hold in the whimpers coming out of you when a voice—calm, gentle—cuts through the noise in your head.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” Your mind struggles to process the words, your body still trembling with anxiety. But that voice, warm and steady, helps anchor you, even if only a little. "I'm not one of them; I'm not going to hurt you. You are okay now. You are away from those monsters now."

“Everything is alright,” The voice said again, “You are gonna be okay,” The gentle voice then coaxed you into breathing in a patter, “Take a breath, yeah and exhale –calm and steady,” The voice even peppering you with compliments as you felt yourself calm down.

“You can open your eyes, if you feel better.” The voice, which now you recognise as a man, said “I promise, nothing is gonna hurt you again.” And you open your eyes, letting the last of the tears fall down.

You see a man crouching at the edge of your bed, a hard grip on the sheets. His posture seems tense, but he has a comforting smile on his face, eyes warm enough to burn you down.

“Are you feeling better?” His voice is gentle and kind, nothing like the people who kept you all those days. You take in his appearance, eyes tracing his features —he was broad-shouldered, lean, and too handsome with pretty lips and eyes that radiate warmth and affection. He seemed kind and human, so you nod.

“Do you want water?” Now that he mentions it, your throat burns, and you realize just how thirsty you are. You nod again, watching warily as he pours water into a glass and approaches slowly, holding it out to you.

“Here,” he says. “Take your time.”

Your hand trembles as you reach for the glass. He doesn’t comment, just holds steady until you’ve taken it. The cool liquid soothes your throat, and you finish it quickly.

“Do you want more?” You hesitate. Asking for anything feels strange, wrong even. But the look in his eyes breaks something in you, a flicker of trust forming despite your fear.

“Can I?” you whisper. “Please?”

“Of course, love.” His voice softens further at the term, heart breaking a little and he moves to refill the glass. You sip this one more slowly, your heart rate beginning to calm. When you set the glass down, he crouches to meet your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” You think about it for a moment. Your head and body ache, but compared to before, there’s a strange lightness in you. You’re tired but awake, alive.

“Better,” you say finally, your voice raspy from disuse. He smiles—a warm, breathtaking smile that makes your chest tighten.

“That’s good. Does your head hurt?" Jin asks gently, his voice filled with concern. You nod slightly, wincing as the motion aggravates the pain.

"Yoongi said it’s a side effect of the anti-venom," You nod, but you don’t press the about Yoongi or the venom. Instead, you focus on the immediate pain.

"A little bit," You admit, feeling the throb in your skull with every beat of your heart. “A lot bit.”

Jin nods sympathetically. "Are you hungry? We can’t give you solid foods just yet, but I made a warm juk for you. I'll get it for you and ask Yoongi to check on you, too."

You try to nod, but before you can, Jin notices something and looks at you with a soft expression. "Wait—are you comfortable like this?"

"Hm?" You blink, confused.

"Let me help you," He says, leaning forward to adjust your pillows for you. The scent of his cologne –warm and musky, overwhelms you for a second, and it’s enough to send your heart rate spiking. You can’t stop the flutter of anxiety that bubbles up in your chest.

"I’m sorry," he says quickly, sensing your unease. "I didn’t mean to startle you. "You breathe a little easier, offering him a small smile.

"It’s okay," You reply, your voice hoarse but steady.

“I’ll be right back,” Jin grins and leaves you alone once again with your thoughts. A few minutes passes by and a soft knock on the door break the moment.

"Hi!” Another good-looking man was peeking into your room now, “I’m Dr. Min Yoongi. Can I come in?" The voice is calm and he offers a polite smile. You nod and he comes in, sitting on the side edge of your bed.

"Before I explain your condition, Ms..."

"Ahmi," You croak, your throat still dry, the sound of your name feeling foreign on your lips. "Yoo Ahmi."

"That’s a beautiful name," Jin says, nodding approvingly. He was standing at the door with a tray of food, smiles warmly at you. You catch his eyes, and for the first time since waking, you feel a strange sense of comfort.

“Yes it is,” Yoongi agrees. "How old are you?" Yoongi asks, his gaze soft but clinical.

"Twenty-one," You answer, your mind still foggy.

"What are you feeling right now?" He presses gently, though you can hear the care in his voice.

"Everything hurts," you answer honestly, your voice shaking with the weight of it.

Yoongi nods. "That’s actually a good sign," he says, his voice reassuring. "It means the anti-venom is working. Did you drink water?”

You nod, “Good. Are you hungry?” You nod again.

“For now, you’ll be on a soft food diet since you were severely starved." He places a small cup of pills on the bedside table. "I’ve prescribed some medication for you. Take these, get plenty of rest, and if you feel anything strange, let me know. I’ll leave you to eat and rest then."

“Breakfast is served~” Jin sings, his voice a cheerful melody as he sets a bed table over your lap. His smile is warm and inviting, and the aroma of the food makes your stomach rumble in anticipation.

On the tray is a comforting bowl of juk, steaming and fragrant, accompanied by a small dish of dongchimi and white kimchi. Your mouth waters, and you don’t realize how ravenous you are until you pick up the spoon. The first bite of the juk is like heaven—it’s creamy, savoury, and perfectly seasoned. The tangy crunch of the kimchi complements the soft porridge beautifully, and you can’t help but let out a small, satisfied sigh.

“This is delicious,” you murmur between bites, eating almost hungrily. “Did you make this?”

Jin grins, his chest puffing out slightly in pride. “Of course! A masterpiece by me.”

You chuckle softly, the sound unfamiliar to your own ears after so long. “It really is,” You say, your voice genuine. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I had something this good.”

He beams at your compliment, watching you finish the meal with a satisfied expression. “I’m glad you like it. You need to eat well to recover.”

You clear the tray quickly, your hunger overpowering your self-consciousness. When the bowl is empty, Jin takes the tray away, setting it on the side table. He hands you a small glass of water and some pills. “Here,” he says softly. “These will help with the pain and keep your recovery on track.”

You take the pills without hesitation, the water cools and refreshing as it soothes your throat. Jin lingers for a moment, then steps back, clearing his throat. “If you feel up to it, you can take a shower,” he says. “Everything you need is in the bathroom—towels, soap, shampoo, even a toothbrush. And I brought you some clean clothes, too.”

He motions toward a neatly folded set of clothing on a nearby chair. “They might be a little big, but they’ll be comfortable.”

You look at him, a little overwhelmed by his kindness. “Thank you,” you say softly, your gratitude evident in your voice.

Jin’s smile softens, and he waves a hand as if to brush off your thanks. “It’s no trouble, really. You deserve to feel a little better.” He glances toward the door. “I’ll give you some privacy, but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps out, you feel a warmth in your chest—not just from the food but from the kindness of the man who has been nothing but patient and caring. The thought of a hot shower and fresh clothes fills you with a sense of normalcy, a small but comforting step forward.

"Thank you," you whisper, grateful for the calm, the space, the kindness.

"No problem," Jin replies softly, his eyes kind. "Rest now."

The door closes softly behind him, and you find yourself sinking back into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you. You try to close your eyes, but then you pause.

"Wait," You scramble, your voice shaky, and a hint of embarrassment creeps up on you. "Your name... I don’t know your name."

Jin pauses, looking mildly embarrassed himself. He chuckles lightly, turning red. "Oops! I didn’t tell you?" He smiles sheepishly. "My name is Kim Seokjin."

"Jin," You say, the word like a breath of fresh air. Your heart flutters at finally having a name for the man who had been nothing but kind to you. "Thank you, Seokjin. Thank you... very much."

His smile is soft and full of warmth, and for the first time since you woke up, you feel a small sense of peace. "No need to thank me, Ahmi," he says, his voice filled with affection. "I’m just happy you’re okay."

The boys watched with warm smiles as Jin hummed softly around the kitchen, his movements fluid and almost dance-like as he prepared dinner with care. It wasn’t just any meal—it was a meticulously crafted recipe he had spent the whole day researching, ensuring it would nourish both your body and your heart. His joy was palpable, radiating from him in waves, and the others couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment just by being in his presence. After everything that had happened, after the panic of finding you, they were all grateful to see their oldest brother so happy.

Jin's delight only grew as he served the meal, taking great pride in presenting the braised chicken soup—rich and healthy, just as he had planned. First, though, he made sure to serve you, his hands gentle as he placed the steaming bowl before you. When you tasted it, your eyes lit up, and you practically licked the bowl clean, a blush creeping up Jin’s neck at your praise. It was a moment of sweet simplicity that filled him with warmth, the love he felt for you shining in his gaze.

Hoseok, unable to keep his curiosity in check, asked, "How is your mate, Hyung?"

Taehyung, ever the observant one, leaned in. "Is she doing better?"

Jin’s face lit up like a beacon. "Yeah, she woke up," he said, a soft grin tugging at his lips. "Yoongi said she's doing better than anyone expected. She’s so strong, so sweet, so beautiful—my mate." He nearly trembled with excitement as he rambled, his heart full. The boys couldn't help but smile, their gazes softening as they watched their older brother's joy unfold before them.

"What's her name?" Jimin asked, even though they all knew. Yoongi had already filled them in, knowing they needed to track down your family.

Jin sighed dramatically, his eyes sparkling with the same adoration they had seen him shower on you since the moment they learned of the bond. "Ahmi," he murmured, as if the name itself was a treasure. "A beautiful name for a beautiful person."

The boys nodded in agreement; their smiles affectionate as they watched Jin speak of you with such warmth. They had no reason to argue—how could they, when the love in his voice was so evident?

It had only been a week since the bond had formed, but already, Jin had been swept up in the whirlwind of emotions that came with it. The connection between him and you were still new, still being tested and explored, and Jin hadn’t fully adjusted to the effects of the bond. He had been so preoccupied with your chaotic recovery—ensuring you were safe, that you woke up—that he hadn’t yet allowed himself to truly settle into the changes that came with having a mate.

"But she’s so sweet," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might break the magic of the moment. "She said my name... I nearly fainted." He sighed dreamily, a soft chuckle escaping him. "And those eyes of hers—gorgeous. I’m so lucky... so incredibly lucky to be bonded to her."

The boys watched him fondly, understanding the whirlwind of emotions Jin was experiencing. It was a bond unlike anything they could have expected for their older brother—a love that had taken hold of him completely, sweeping him off his feet in the most beautiful, tender way. And, despite the chaos of the past week, they were happy for him—happy that he had found someone who made him feel this way.

—next chapter | chapter three

—author's endnote | feedback and thoughts are really appreciated! It keeps me motivated to write more and definitely makes me happy! I hope all of you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

—taglist notes | comment on the post if you want to be tagged. If you are on the taglist but haven’t been notified, please check this post out.

14 January, 2025.

[akshstudios]

😘😘

Hello to you, anon 😂

And I'm taking this as appreciation of some sort towards me 😅 Thank you.

I hope you are well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

[akshstudios]

—a letter from the writer's desk 💌

Hello, everybody!

I know I owe all of you wonderful people an apology 😬 Miss Madam planned for very ambitious stuff and didn't show up for a very long time.. left many of you hanging and ultimately never f-ing delivered on her words 😐

I'm sincerely sorry, you guys 🥺 Thank you to everyone who's been checking on me, and patiently waiting for me even though I've been non-existent on here 🥺 I'll try to do better.

Before we end, I'll fill you in on what's happened in my life —I've just finished first year of my master's programme (it almost killed me, I have to say), I'm starting my second and final year tomorrow. You'll be bored to know of how academics have sucked my soul out, so I digress 🤐

Now, onto nicer parts of my life ✨

Miss Madam found someone who liked her stupid self and actually can handle her mess of a personality 🥺 I actually thought I'd die a single-pringle 😂 but your girl got a ✨boyfriend ✨ but more on this some other day 🤭

I also managed to finally get a laptop and I think I'll get back to writing sooner. I also have an writing instagram account theunprettypink where I sometimes write poems, if you can call that.. mostly in stories, so they are technically in highlights. You can follow me on there, if you'd like.

I'm currently working on the next chapter of The Lily Of Bangtan and it should be up soon.

I hope all of you have been very well, thank you for reading so far, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

20 November, 2022.