Chapter Text
“He’s a very fast lethal bunny!”
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
The moon hung fat and silver over Neo-Seoul, spilling soft light across the highest floors of Hannam-the-Hill like it had been invited in personally. Inside the Glass Fortress, the polarized sun-glass walls turned that moonlight into something almost gentle, bathing the massive sunken Nest in cool blues and silvers. Six bodies were tangled together in the center of it all—limbs draped over limbs, slow breathing that didn’t really need to happen anymore but felt nice anyway. A quiet, low-power pile of silk pajamas and cool skin.
Jeongguk wasn’t in the pile.
He sat on the very edge of the Nest instead, knees drawn up, fangs worrying at his bottom lip. Six months. Only six months since Namjoon had turned him, and everything still felt… too much. His body buzzed like there was a live wire under his skin. The hunger especially. It wasn’t the sharp gnaw of human starvation anymore. This was deeper, heavier, like something alive moving through his veins, demanding attention.
He glanced back at the others. Namjoon had his arm slung over Yoongi’s waist, Seokjin’s head tucked under Hoseok’s chin, Jimin curled into Taehyung’s chest like he belonged there. They looked peaceful. Perfect. And here he was, the newest one, the loudest heartbeat in the room even though his heart didn’t really beat the same way anymore. He didn’t want to wake them. He just needed… something. A pouch. Banana-infused. Cold. That was all.
Jeongguk stood up as quietly as he could. Which wasn’t quiet at all.
The floorboards under the thick rug gave a low, protesting creak with his first step. His new density—bone, muscle, whatever the turning had done to him—made everything feel like he was walking in lead boots. He winced and tried to lighten his steps, moving like Yoongi did when he was sneaking off to the studio. Smooth. Ghost-like. He made it three more steps before another loud groan rolled through the penthouse.
He froze, glancing back. No one stirred. Good. Okay. Kitchen. Fridge. Easy.
The custom Samsung sat gleaming in the moonlight like it cost more than some people’s apartments—which it did. Fifteen thousand dollars of sleek stainless steel and smart technology, built to withstand whatever a coven of vampires might throw at it. Or so the salesman had promised.
Jeongguk’s mouth watered at the thought of the chilled blood pouches lined up inside. He reached out, fingers wrapping carefully—carefully—around the minimalist handle. He pictured himself pulling it open with just the right amount of strength. Gentle. Like a normal person. Like he used to be.
He pulled.
The sound that followed wasn’t a normal fridge door opening. It was a violent metallic CRACK-BOOOOOM that split the quiet night like a gunshot. Jeongguk stumbled back a step, eyes wide, as the entire fifty-pound stainless steel door came clean off in his hand. The hinges twisted and snapped like cheap wire, metal screaming in protest. The door hung heavy in his grip, dangling from his fingers like it weighed nothing.
Inside the fridge, the automatic light clicked on, illuminating rows of perfectly organized blood pouches, Seokjin’s organic strawberries, and the little labeled containers of infused blends Seokjin had spent hours perfecting.
Jeongguk stared at the door in his hand. Then at the gaping hole where the door used to be.
“Oh… shit.”
The first one to appear was Yoongi.
He materialized at the edge of the kitchen like smoke, hair messy from the Nest, wearing nothing but black sweatpants slung low on his hips. His sharp eyes took in the scene—the doorless fridge, the mangled hinges, and Jeongguk standing there holding the entire door like a confused shield.
Yoongi blinked once. Slowly.
“I’m not even mad,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep. “That thing was rated for earthquake resistance. You just yeeted it off like it was a Post-it note.”
Before Jeongguk could answer, rapid footsteps echoed from the hallway. Seokjin appeared next, silk robe fluttering dramatically behind him, hair still perfect even at this hour. His eyes narrowed the second they landed on the carnage.
“Jeongguk-ah!” His voice rose in that familiar mix of scolding and despair. “My organic strawberries are going to get warm! The temperature control is shot now. Put the door back this instant!”
Jeongguk panicked. “Hyung, I—I was gentle, I swear! I just wanted the banana one—” He tried to shove the door back into place, but his nerves made everything worse. Instead of aligning with the frame, he pushed too hard. The heavy steel door punched straight into the fridge’s interior with a sickening crunch, piercing the vegetable crisper drawer and sending a shower of leafy greens and broken plastic flying.
The sound of destruction echoed again.
Namjoon wandered in last, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, pajama pants barely hanging on. He took one look at the scene—Jeongguk frozen with his hand still on the embedded door, Yoongi leaning against the counter looking vaguely impressed, and Seokjin clutching his robe like the world was ending—and let out a soft, rumbling laugh.
“Look at those fast-twitch muscle fibers, Gguk,” he said, voice warm and fond in that philosophical way of his. “You’re really coming into your own. That was… impressive control, actually. For a fledgling.”
“I broke it,” Jeongguk whispered, voice cracking. His bottom lip started to tremble despite himself. The guilt hit like a wave. He was supposed to be careful. He was the youngest, the newest, the one who should be proving he belonged here without destroying everything they owned. “Hyung, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’ll fix it, I can—”
He reached for the door again, but Seokjin swooped in first, gently prying Jeongguk’s white-knuckled fingers off the steel.
“Enough of that,” Seokjin said, softer now. He set the ruined door aside with surprising grace, then cupped Jeongguk’s face with both hands. His thumbs brushed over the fledgling’s cheeks. “Go back to the Nest, baby. I’ll bring you your snack. And Jeongguk? Do not touch the microwave. I’d like to keep the kitchen in this zip code, thank you very much.”
Jeongguk’s shoulders slumped. “I’m such a mess…”
From the entrance to the living area, Jimin and Taehyung finally appeared, both of them still half-asleep but already grinning. Jimin’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took in the fridge situation. Taehyung, wearing one of his dramatic black capes over pajamas because of course he was, clapped his hands together once.
“It’s a vibe,” Taehyung declared, voice bright. “Very industrial-chic. Post-apocalyptic gourmet. We could call it… Fridge-core.”
Jimin immediately pulled out his phone, angling it for a quick selfie with the doorless fridge and a very embarrassed Jeongguk in the background. “Smile, baby. This is going in the coven group chat later. Caption: ‘When the maknae gets snacky.’”
Hoseok was the last to join, but he moved with that familiar speed that made him blur for half a second. He slid in right behind Jeongguk, arms wrapping carefully around the younger vampire’s waist from behind. His chin rested on Jeongguk’s shoulder, breath cool against his ear.
“Hey, hey,” Hoseok murmured, voice low and soothing, the kind of tone that could calm a storm. “It’s just a box, baby. A very expensive, very dramatic box. We’ve got dozens of them on speed dial. You’re more important than any fridge. Way more.”
Jeongguk leaned back into the touch despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “But hyung… it was custom. And Seokjin hyung’s strawberries…”
Seokjin waved a hand dismissively as he rummaged inside the ruined fridge for the banana-infused pouch. “The strawberries will survive five minutes. You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to cry and dent the floor with your guilt. Go. Nest. Now.”
Namjoon stepped closer too, his presence heavy and grounding like always—the Pureblood aura wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. He reached out and ruffled Jeongguk’s hair gently. “We knew this would happen eventually, Gguk. You’re still adjusting. Your body’s stronger than anything this penthouse was built for. That’s not a flaw. That’s just… you.”
Yoongi pushed off the counter, wandering over to stand beside them. He didn’t say much—he rarely did—but he bumped his shoulder lightly against Jeongguk’s. “Come on. Bed. Before Tae starts suggesting we turn the fridge into modern art.”
Taehyung perked up. “Actually—”
“No,” Yoongi cut in flatly.
Jimin laughed, tucking his phone away and grabbing Jeongguk’s free hand. “Let’s go. I’ll even let you be the little spoon tonight if you promise not to kick me through the wall again.”
They moved as a unit, the whole coven instinctively closing ranks around their youngest. Jeongguk let himself be herded back toward the massive sunken Nest, the ruined fridge already forgotten in favor of softer things. Hoseok kept one hand on the small of his back the whole way. Seokjin followed with the blood pouch, already warmed to the perfect temperature between his palms. Namjoon walked beside them, murmuring something quiet about muscle memory and patience that Jeongguk only half-understood but felt in his chest anyway.
Once they reached the Nest, the pile reformed effortlessly. Jeongguk ended up in the center this time, surrounded on all sides. Jimin curled into his lap immediately, arms looping around his neck. Taehyung flopped dramatically across his legs, cape fluttering. Yoongi claimed his usual spot against Jeongguk’s side, using the maknae’s shoulder as a pillow. Hoseok tucked himself behind, one arm slung over everyone within reach. Seokjin settled in front, pressing the pouch into Jeongguk’s hands with a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Drink slowly,” Seokjin instructed, though his voice had lost all its earlier scolding edge. “And next time you’re hungry in the middle of the night, just wake one of us up. We don’t mind.”
Jeongguk took a small sip, the cool sweetness flooding his mouth and easing some of that buzzing hunger. His eyes flicked around the circle of faces watching him with nothing but fondness.
“I really am sorry about the door,” he mumbled around the pouch.
Namjoon smiled, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Jeongguk’s forehead. “We’ll order a new one tomorrow. Titanium reinforcements this time, maybe. Or we’ll just start buying industrial-grade everything. Call it the Newborn Tax.”
Hoseok chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of Jeongguk’s neck. “Exactly. Consider it your contribution to interior design. Very avant-garde.”
Taehyung grinned from where he was sprawled. “I like it. Makes the place feel lived-in. Like we actually exist here together instead of just posing for magazine spreads.”
Jimin nuzzled closer, voice sleepy and sweet. “Plus, now we have an excuse to redecorate. I’ve been wanting new throw pillows anyway.”
Yoongi let out a quiet huff that might have been a laugh. “As long as I don’t have to carry the new fridge up here myself.”
Seokjin shushed them all gently, but there was a smile playing on his lips. “Enough chatter. Let our baby drink his snack and rest. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to vampire-proof the rest of this place before he rips the entire kitchen apart.”
Jeongguk felt the tension finally drain out of him as the warmth of the coven settled around him like the softest blanket. Six pairs of hands, six sets of quiet heartbeats that matched his own unnatural rhythm. The guilt was still there, small and lingering, but it was buried under layers of touches and murmured reassurances.
He finished the pouch and let Seokjin take it from his hands. As his eyes started to drift shut, he whispered into the quiet, “Love you… all of you. Even when I break stuff.”
A chorus of soft replies came back immediately—different voices overlapping in the dark.
“Love you too, bunny.”
“More than the strawberries.”
“Even more than my studio door… for now.”
“Always, Gguk-ah.”
The Nest shifted slightly as everyone settled deeper, bodies pressing closer, protective and adoring all at once. Outside, the moon continued its slow path over Neo-Seoul, but inside the Glass Fortress, the only thing that mattered was the tangle of seven vampires learning how to exist together in a world that wasn’t quite built for them yet.
Jeongguk’s last thought before sleep took him was that maybe—maybe—being a little too strong wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Not when it meant he got to be held like this afterward.
The fridge could wait until morning.
𝓈𝒿
The morning after the fridge incident dawned bright and filtered through the polarized sun-glass walls of the Glass Fortress, turning the entire penthouse into a soft, golden haze that felt almost safe. Almost. Jeongguk woke up still tucked in the very center of the Nest, surrounded by the steady, cool weight of six bodies that had refused to let him drift even an inch toward the edges during the night. Jimin’s leg was thrown over his thigh, Taehyung’s face pressed into his chest, and Hoseok’s arm curled possessively around his waist from behind. He could feel Namjoon’s quiet presence nearby, that heavy Pureblood aura acting like an anchor even in sleep.
Jeongguk stayed perfectly still for a long moment, just breathing in the mingled scents of sandalwood, Seokjin’s expensive skincare, and the faint metallic sweetness that always clung to all of them now. His chest felt tight with leftover guilt from last night. The ruined fridge door was still leaning against the kitchen counter like a metal corpse, a loud reminder that he couldn’t even grab a late-night snack without turning their home into a construction zone.
A soft rustle broke the quiet. Seokjin stirred first, lifting his head with that graceful precision only a century-old vampire could manage. His dark eyes found Jeongguk immediately, softening at the edges.
“Morning, wrecking ball,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep but already carrying that fond scolding tone. He reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from Jeongguk’s forehead. “Stop looking like you kicked a puppy. The fridge survived worse in the delivery van.”
“I still feel bad,” Jeongguk whispered back, careful not to wake the others yet. “It was so expensive, hyung.”
Seokjin hummed, leaning in to press a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Then make it up to me by not destroying the rest of the kitchen today. Deal?”
Before Jeongguk could answer, the Nest erupted into motion. Hoseok sat up like someone had flipped a switch, eyes bright and determined, neon orange hair sticking up in every direction. “Right. Phase two. We’re not waiting around for another incident. Seokjin-hyung and I are taking charge of vamp-proofing this place before our baby accidentally levels the entire building.”
Namjoon chuckled low in his chest, finally opening his eyes. “I support this. Logically speaking, our current minimalist aesthetic is structurally incompatible with a fledgling who can bench-press a car.”
Yoongi groaned from somewhere under a pile of silk blankets and Taehyung’s cape. “Can we at least have coffee first? Or blood. Whatever. Just not neon. I can already feel the headache coming.”
Too late. Hoseok was already on his feet, moving with that blur of speed that made him impossible to argue with when he got an idea in his head. “Supply run. I’ll be back in an hour. Nobody break anything while I’m gone.”
By the time Hoseok returned, dragging three massive boxes behind him like they weighed nothing, the rest of the coven had migrated to the living room. Jeongguk sat cross-legged on the edge of the Nest, trying his hardest to look small and harmless. Jimin was perched in his lap, playing with his fingers and murmuring soft praises every time Jeongguk managed not to accidentally squeeze too hard.
Hoseok kicked the door open dramatically, arms full of bright, industrial-grade pool noodles in every color imaginable—hot pink, electric blue, lime green, screaming yellow. At least a hundred and fifty of them, bundled together like oversized colorful pool toys.
Seokjin raised an elegant eyebrow from where he was sipping warmed blood from a delicate glass. “Hoseok-ah. Explain.”
Hoseok grinned, fangs flashing. “Corner protectors. Table leg cushions. General chaos buffers. If we wrap every sharp edge in this stuff, maybe our walls will survive Jeongguk walking through the room.” He dropped the boxes with a muffled thump and pulled one long neon pink noodle free, waving it like a sword. “It’s for a very fast, very lethal puppy. The cashier didn’t ask questions. I think she was scared.”
Taehyung’s eyes lit up immediately. He abandoned his spot next to Yoongi and snatched a bright green one, twirling it experimentally. “This is genius. We’re turning the Glass Fortress into a bouncy castle. Gothic neon edition.”
Yoongi took one look at the growing pile of foam, muttered something about “my studio door better stay untouched,” and promptly disappeared back toward his soundproofed sanctuary, only to return five minutes later with a neon pink noodle already taped haphazardly to his door handle. He stared at it for a long second, then shrugged. “If I can’t see the neon, it’s not real,” he declared before flopping onto the couch and pulling a pillow over his face.
The installation began in earnest around ten-thirty. Hoseok and Seokjin took charge like seasoned generals. Every marble edge on the coffee table got wrapped in thick layers of foam, secured with heavy duct tape that somehow matched the aesthetic in the most ridiculous way possible. The sharp corners of the designer console tables were padded until they looked like they belonged in a daycare for super-strong toddlers. Even the legs of the dining chairs received the treatment, turning the entire living room into what Jimin cheerfully described as “a high-end art gallery that hosted a birthday party for a very rich five-year-old.”
Jeongguk watched the transformation with wide eyes, torn between embarrassment and quiet gratitude. “Hyungs, you really don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Seokjin cut in, taping a blue noodle around the edge of the kitchen island with precise, graceful movements. “If you’re going to keep growing into that beautiful freight-train body of yours, we need to adapt. I refuse to replace the entire penthouse every six months.”
Hoseok moved in a blur, appearing beside Jeongguk one second and taping foam around a floor lamp the next. “Exactly. Think of it as armor for the furniture. And for you, so you don’t feel guilty every time you breathe too hard near something breakable.”
At eleven-fifteen, they decided it was time for the first official test.
“Walk through the room, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok instructed, hands on his hips, looking every bit the enforcer even in his neon yellow tank top. “Normal speed. Try not to think about it too much.”
Jeongguk stood up carefully, hyper-aware of every muscle. He took a step. Then another. His heightened reflexes made everything feel slightly off-balance, like his body wanted to move faster than his brain could control. On the third step, his foot caught on absolutely nothing, and he pitched forward with a startled yelp, face heading straight for the now-padded edge of the coffee table.
Instead of the sickening crack of marble meeting vampire skull, there was a muffled thwip sound. The neon foam absorbed the impact completely. Jeongguk bounced off it lightly, landing on his butt on the rug with a look of pure astonishment on his face.
The room erupted.
“It worked!” Jimin squealed, clapping his hands together and immediately crawling over to throw his arms around Jeongguk’s neck. “Gguk-ah, you looked like a bouncy ball! Do it again!”
Taehyung was already laughing, deep and bright, rolling one of the spare noodles across the floor toward him. “Again! Come on, I want to see the bounce physics.”
Namjoon smiled softly from his spot on the couch, watching with that calm, philosophical pride that always made Jeongguk’s chest feel warm. “Excellent energy absorption. The foam distributes the force. You’re safe, and so is the table. Progress.”
Jeongguk rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushing even though his body didn’t really get warm the same way anymore. “It… didn’t hurt. And nothing broke. That’s new.”
Seokjin looked immensely pleased with himself as he moved into the kitchen. “Good. Now for phase two—utensils. We can’t have you snapping another spoon in half during breakfast.”
The kitchen protocol turned out to be both hilarious and humbling. Seokjin produced a comically oversized foam handle the size of a grapefruit and slid it over one of their reinforced titanium spoons. “Try this. Gentle grip, baby.”
Jeongguk took the spoon with extreme care, dipping it into a bowl of blood-infused porridge Seokjin had prepared. He brought it slowly toward his mouth. The first squeeze was too much. The foam handle exploded with a sad little pop, sending colorful bits flying across the counter and sticking to Jeongguk’s hair and cheeks.
He froze, spoon handle now bare metal in his hand, eyes going wide and watery in that heartbreaking doe-eyed way that always worked on every single one of them. “Hyung… I broke the safety spoon.”
Seokjin sighed, but it was the soft kind of sigh, the one laced with affection rather than frustration. He stepped closer, wiping a stray piece of pink foam from Jeongguk’s cheek with his thumb before leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his forehead. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute, you little wrecking ball. We’ll make the next handle thicker. Or maybe we’ll just feed you by hand for a while.”
From the living room, Hoseok called out, “I volunteer as tribute for feeding duty!”
The afternoon wore on with more experiments. Every surface that could possibly injure—or be injured by—their fledgling got the neon treatment. The penthouse slowly transformed from sleek minimalist luxury into a chaotic, colorful labyrinth of foam and duct tape. Yoongi refused to come out of his studio again after discovering three noodles taped strategically around his favorite chair, but they could hear him muttering complaints through the reinforced door.
By three o’clock, the inevitable happened.
Taehyung, never one to resist chaos, decided it was time for a cuddle pile. “Come on, everyone! Group hug test in the Nest. Safety gear optional.”
They tried. They really did. But with so many limbs wrapped in various layers of foam padding for the “test run,” the pile quickly turned into a slippery disaster. Jimin kept sliding off Jeongguk’s chest with a giggle. Hoseok’s arm bounced off a padded elbow and sent him rolling into Seokjin, who dramatically declared he was “being attacked by neon.” Even Namjoon’s grounding presence couldn’t stop the laughter as bodies kept slipping and colliding harmlessly against the foam.
Finally, Namjoon raised his voice just enough for that Pureblood authority to settle over the room like a warm, heavy blanket. “Noodle-free zone declared in the center of the Nest. Everyone in. Now.”
The coven obeyed instantly. The bright foam pieces were discarded in a colorful heap as they all piled into the sunken memory foam, bodies fitting together with practiced ease. Jeongguk found himself pinned safely in the very middle again, surrounded by cool skin and soft silk. Jimin curled into his side immediately, pressing small kisses along his jaw. Taehyung draped himself across his legs like an oversized cat. Hoseok’s hands found his hair, gently carding through the strands. Seokjin settled in front, one hand resting on Jeongguk’s chest. Yoongi claimed his shoulder as a pillow without a word, and Namjoon took the spot behind him, arms wrapping around the whole group as much as he could.
“Better,” Namjoon murmured, voice low and soothing against Jeongguk’s ear. “You can’t hurt us, Gguk. Not really. We’re built for this too.”
Hoseok leaned in from the side, pressing a kiss to Jeongguk’s temple. “Exactly. But the furniture isn’t. So we adapt. That’s what this coven does.”
Jeongguk let out a shaky breath, the last remnants of morning guilt easing under the weight of all those touches. “Thank you. For not getting tired of fixing everything I break.”
Seokjin scoffed lightly, but his fingers traced gentle patterns on Jeongguk’s collarbone. “Tired? Of taking care of you? Never. Though I am going to need a new roll of duct tape by tomorrow.”
The evening found them in a much lighter mood. After dinner—Seokjin’s blood-infused gourmet meal served with extra foam-wrapped chopsticks—they turned the remaining pool noodles into weapons for an impromptu sword fight in the middle of the living room. Laughter echoed off the sun-glass walls as they darted around the neon obstacles. Jimin and Taehyung teamed up against Hoseok, who moved like a blur of color. Yoongi participated from the sidelines, occasionally swatting at someone with a half-hearted swing.
Jeongguk got a little too into it.
He swung his bright blue foam sword with what he thought was controlled enthusiasm. The motion created a localized whoosh of air that turned into something sharper—a sudden sonic boom that rattled the windows and sent a decorative vase on the shelf shattering into pieces before anyone could wrap it in time.
The room went quiet for half a second.
Then Seokjin threw his hands up. “And there goes the vase that wasn’t even near you!”
Jeongguk dropped the noodle immediately, looking horrified. “I didn’t even hit anything…”
Hoseok burst out laughing first, pulling Jeongguk into a tight hug before he could spiral. “It’s fine. It was ugly anyway. We’ll add it to the list.”
Namjoon nodded sagely, already calculating. “Current destruction debt: one Samsung fridge door, one designer vase, and what’s left of the coven’s dignity.”
Jimin grinned, crawling into Jeongguk’s lap despite the foam still scattered everywhere. “Which means you owe us approximately four million kisses. Starting now.”
Jeongguk’s face lit up with that shy, heart-eyed smile they all loved, relief and love mixing together as he let himself be pulled back into the colorful chaos. He pressed kisses to every cheek and forehead within reach, murmuring soft “sorry”s and “thank you”s between each one while the others teased him gently.
By the time the moon rose high over Neo-Seoul again, the penthouse looked like a neon fever dream, but the Nest felt warmer than ever. Seven vampires tangled together in the center, foam pieces forgotten on the floor, laughter still lingering in the air.
Jeongguk drifted off with Jimin’s fingers in his hair and Seokjin’s quiet humming in his ear, the buzzing strength in his veins feeling a little less terrifying when it was surrounded by this much love.
The pool noodle apocalypse had only just begun, but for the first time since waking up as a fledgling, Jeongguk thought maybe—just maybe—they could turn even his chaos into something beautiful.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he already wondered what tomorrow’s training would bring.
But that was a worry for daylight. Tonight, he was safe, padded, and very, very loved.
𝓈𝒿
The neon foam from yesterday still clung to half the surfaces in the Glass Fortress like colorful battle scars, turning the once-sleek penthouse into something that felt more like a playful fortress than a luxury home. Morning light filtered softly through the polarized sun-glass walls, casting gentle patterns across the sunken Nest where the coven had spent another night tangled together. Jeongguk woke slowly this time, tucked safely in the middle again, with Jimin’s cheek pressed against his collarbone and Taehyung’s arm slung loosely over his waist. He could feel Hoseok’s fingers idly tracing circles on his hip even in sleep, and the low, steady presence of Namjoon somewhere behind him kept that familiar grounding pressure wrapped around all of them.
He didn’t move right away. The memory of the pool noodle sword fight and the shattered vase still sat warm in his chest, mixed with the quiet relief that no one had gotten truly upset. They never did. But the buzzing in his veins—the constant reminder that his body was still learning how to exist in this new, too-powerful state—made him wonder how long they could keep patching things up before something important actually broke.
Seokjin was the first to stir properly, slipping out of the pile with that cat-like grace he’d perfected over a century. He stretched, silk robe sliding over his shoulders, and glanced toward the kitchen with a decisive glint in his eye.
“Alright, my loves,” he announced, voice carrying just enough to wake the others without being harsh. “The foam was cute, but defense only gets us so far. Today we switch to offense. Jeongguk needs fine motor control if he’s ever going to exist around delicate things. Or humans. Or our remaining dishes.”
Hoseok sat up immediately, hair a mess of bright colors, grinning like he’d been waiting for this. “Fine motor skills training. I like it. We start small. Really small.”
Namjoon hummed thoughtfully as he disentangled himself, already slipping into that philosophical mode. “Precision under pressure. It’s like meditation, but with higher stakes for the furniture. The body has to learn that strength and gentleness can coexist.”
Yoongi groaned from under a blanket, not even opening his eyes yet. “Can we at least have breakfast before we start murdering fruit?”
They compromised on a light meal first—Seokjin’s blood-infused rice porridge served with extra care using the oversized foam-handled spoons from yesterday. Jeongguk ate slowly, hyper-focused on not squeezing the spoon too hard, and managed to finish without any explosions. Small victories felt huge these days.
By ten o’clock, the newly reinforced kitchen island had been cleared. Seokjin laid out six delicate porcelain plates in a neat row, each one edged in soft gold that caught the light beautifully. In the center he placed a massive crate of chilled organic green grapes, plump and glistening, imported from some vineyard that probably charged more per kilo than most people made in a week. A small silver paring knife rested beside the crate, looking far too innocent for what was about to happen.
“The mission,” Seokjin declared, tying on an apron with dramatic flair, “is simple but crucial. Jeongguk-ah, you’re going to peel one perfect grape for each of us. Skin off cleanly, fruit stays whole, no juice squirting anywhere it shouldn’t—especially not the ceiling. Think of it as practice for holding fragile things. Like our hearts.” He winked, but his tone stayed warm and encouraging.
Jeongguk swallowed, staring at the grapes like they were tiny bombs. His fangs were already peeking out a little from nerves. “One for each of you… okay. I can do this. I bench-press cars. Grapes are nothing, right?”
Taehyung leaned against the counter, cape draped dramatically over one shoulder even though it was daytime. “Exactly. You’ve got this, golden one. Pretend each grape is one of our hands. You never crush our hands.”
Jimin perched on a stool nearby, legs swinging, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want mine extra pretty. Make it look like a little jewel.”
Hoseok stood beside Jeongguk, one hand resting lightly on his lower back for support. “Breathe. Slow and steady. You’ve got all the time in the world.”
Jeongguk reached for the first grape with extreme care, fingers closing around it like it was made of spun glass. He could feel every tiny detail—the smooth skin, the faint give beneath, the way it wanted to yield. He applied what he thought was the barest fraction of his strength. Just 0.01 percent. Nothing.
The grape didn’t peel. It exploded.
POP.
Juice and pulp sprayed outward in a dramatic burst. A tiny seed shot across the kitchen like a sniper round and pinged Namjoon right in the eye from clear across the room.
“Ow—!” Namjoon blinked rapidly, more surprised than hurt, rubbing at his eye with a soft laugh already bubbling up.
“Sniper!” Taehyung yelled, diving theatrically behind a pool-noodle-wrapped chair with a dramatic flourish of his cape. “Take cover! The grapes are fighting back!”
The kitchen filled with laughter. Jeongguk stood frozen, staring at the sticky mess on his fingers and the counter, cheeks burning. “Hyung… I barely touched it.”
Seokjin clicked his tongue, but he was smiling as he wiped a stray drop of juice from the island. “That was zero point zero one percent? We need to recalibrate, baby. Try again. Gentler. Like you’re touching Jimin’s cheek when he’s being clingy.”
They kept going. Grape after grape met the same explosive fate. By eleven-thirty, the kitchen smelled strongly of crushed fruit—like someone had opened a winery in the middle of their penthouse. The floor around Jeongguk’s feet was littered with “grape gore,” sticky pulp and skins everywhere. His hands were coated, and his face had settled into the deepest concentration-pout, fangs fully out now as he focused so hard his brows furrowed.
“I can bench-press a car,” Jeongguk whimpered after the latest casualty, voice small and frustrated. He set down the latest mangled grape and stared at his hands like they had betrayed him. “Why is the fruit winning? It’s just a grape. I’m supposed to be strong, not… not this.”
Yoongi, who had been quietly observing from the edge of the kitchen with his usual low-energy slouch, finally pushed off the counter. He wandered over without a word at first, slipping in behind Jeongguk and resting his chin gently on the maknae’s broad shoulder. His cool hands covered Jeongguk’s sticky ones, guiding them with careful patience.
“Don’t think about the grape, Gguk,” Yoongi murmured close to his ear, voice low and steady like a quiet anchor. “Think about something you already know how to hold gently. Like Jimin’s hand. You don’t crush his hand when you hold it at night, right? Or the way you pet the stray cats Tae brings home without leaving dents in the floor anymore. Same principle. Feel the difference.”
Jeongguk leaned back into Yoongi’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him—something like old books and faint studio smoke mixed with their shared metallic sweetness. He closed his eyes, letting the rest of the coven’s presence wash over him. Jimin’s soft encouragement from the side, Hoseok’s steady hand still on his back, Seokjin’s quiet humming as he prepared more grapes, Namjoon’s grounding aura, Taehyung’s playful energy. All of it wove together into something calmer.
He reached for another grape. This time he didn’t overthink the strength. He let muscle memory from holding his boyfriends guide him—gentle pressure, focused intention. His fingers worked slowly, peeling the skin away in one thin, translucent strip.
The grape emerged perfect. A whole, glistening green orb resting delicately in his palm, completely intact.
Silence fell for half a second.
Then the kitchen exploded into celebration.
“Yes!” Hoseok whooped, starting an immediate chant. “Jeon Jeongguk! Jeon Jeongguk!” He pumped his fist, moving in a happy blur around the island.
Jimin actually did a graceful backflip off his stool, landing lightly and rushing over to throw his arms around Jeongguk’s neck. “You did it! That one was so pretty, baby. Like a little jewel, just like I wanted.”
Taehyung emerged from behind the noodle chair, clapping enthusiastically. “The fledgling has conquered the grape! History will remember this day.”
Namjoon smiled wide, philosophical pride shining in his eyes. “Beautiful control. You found the balance. That’s the real strength, Gguk—knowing exactly how much is enough.”
Seokjin looked the proudest of all, eyes soft as he inspected the perfect grape. “See? You’re learning. One down, five to go. But take your time. We’re not rushing our baby.”
The next hour and a half saw steady improvement. Jeongguk peeled grape after grape under Yoongi’s occasional guidance and the others’ constant encouragement. Some still burst—old habits died hard—but the successes started outweighing the failures. By one o’clock, six perfect, peeled green grapes sat gleaming on the porcelain plates, each one a small triumph.
The coven gathered closer, the mood light and warm despite the sticky mess everywhere.
Jeongguk’s face lit up with shy pride as he picked up the first grape and turned to Jimin. “For you, hyung.” He lifted it carefully to Jimin’s lips, feeding him with the gentlest touch.
Jimin accepted it with a sweet smile, eyes fluttering half-closed in exaggerated bliss. “Mmm. Perfect. Tastes even better when you give it to me.”
One by one, Jeongguk fed the others. Taehyung made a show of it, pretending to swoon dramatically after his grape. Hoseok kissed Jeongguk’s fingers right after, sticky juice and all. Namjoon murmured soft words of affirmation between bites—“Your hands are capable of such care. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come already.”
When he reached Seokjin last, the eldest took the grape between his lips but didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he leaned in and caught a stray drop of juice on Jeongguk’s thumb with his tongue, slow and deliberate. “See?” he whispered, voice low and teasing against the younger’s skin. “Gentle. You’re getting there, my strong boy. Makes me want to keep you in the kitchen forever.”
Jeongguk’s ears turned bright red, a flush he couldn’t quite control even as a vampire. He ducked his head, smiling shyly. “Hyung…”
The moment was sweet, the air thick with affection and the faint smell of crushed grapes.
But not everything stayed perfect.
As Jeongguk reached for the small silver paring knife to help clean up, his focus slipped for just a second. He barely gripped it—didn’t even squeeze—when the metal snapped cleanly in half with a sharp crack, the blade pinging off the counter.
Jeongguk stared at the broken pieces in his hand, shoulders slumping again. “I wasn’t even trying that time…”
Yoongi, who had been quietly scooping the massive pile of crushed grape mush and skins into a large fermentation jar he’d pulled from somewhere, glanced over with a lazy smirk. “It’s a waste to throw all this out.”
Namjoon raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Yoongi, no. We are not making ‘Jeongguk-crushed newborn wine.’”
Yoongi kept scooping anyway, unbothered. “It’ll be high-proof. The kid’s stress hormones are probably in the juice. It’ll give it a nice kick. Call it… Golden Fledgling Reserve. Vintage 2026.”
Jeongguk let out a small, embarrassed laugh despite himself. “I’m sorry I broke the fruit, hyung… and the knife.”
Yoongi set the jar down and turned, pulling Jeongguk into a loose hug from the side, chin back on his shoulder. “Baby, you didn’t break them. You ‘pre-processed’ them. Very efficiently. Now give me a kiss and go wash your sticky hands before you accidentally glue yourself to the sofa.”
Jeongguk obliged, pressing a soft kiss to Yoongi’s cheek, then another to his lips when the older vampire tilted his head expectantly. The rest of the coven joined in the cleanup, turning the sticky kitchen into another round of laughter and teasing touches. Hoseok wiped juice from Jeongguk’s jaw with his thumb. Jimin stole one last unbroken grape and fed it back to him playfully. Taehyung declared the crushed remains “abstract art” and tried to arrange them into a heart shape on a plate.
By late afternoon, the training session wound down. Jeongguk had successfully peeled six grapes—real, tangible proof that he was improving, even if the floor still looked like a winery explosion and a silver knife lay in two pieces on the counter.
Seokjin surveyed the mess with a sigh that turned into a fond smile. “We’ll call today a success. Six perfect grapes, one broken knife, and enough mush for Yoongi’s questionable wine experiment. Progress.”
Namjoon nodded, pulling Jeongguk close with one arm around his shoulders, that Pureblood aura settling like a comforting weight. “Every step counts. You’re not a burden for needing time, Gguk. We all adjust together. That’s what makes this coven work.”
Hoseok ruffled his hair, already planning the next training session in his head. “Tomorrow we can try something else. Maybe buttons. Or zippers. Small victories build up.”
Jeongguk leaned into the touches, the frustration from earlier melting away under the warmth of their attention. “Thank you. All of you. For not giving up on me even when I turn the kitchen into a war zone.”
Jimin crawled into his lap right there on the kitchen stool, nuzzling against his neck. “Never. You’re our favorite wrecking ball. And you feed the best grapes.”
Taehyung draped his cape over both of them dramatically. “The Grapes of Wrath have been defeated. Mostly.”
As evening settled over Neo-Seoul, the coven migrated back toward the Nest, bodies naturally finding their places in the massive sunken foam. Jeongguk ended up in the center again, surrounded by cool skin and soft murmurs. Yoongi’s accidental winery jar sat fermenting quietly on the counter, a strange testament to the day’s chaos. The neon pool noodles still guarded the corners, and the scent of grapes lingered faintly in the air.
Jeongguk closed his eyes, feeling the gentle press of lips against his temple, his knuckles, the back of his hand. The strength still buzzed under his skin, but for the first time in a while, it felt a little less like something to fear and more like something they could shape together—one peeled grape, one broken knife, one sticky kiss at a time.
The fine motor skills of a god were still a work in progress, but the love surrounding him? That had always been perfect.
And as sleep started to pull him under, with Seokjin humming softly and Namjoon murmuring quiet poetry about moonlight and patience against his ear, Jeongguk thought that maybe the grapes had been worth every single pop and squirt.
The destruction debt might be climbing, but the kisses owed? Those he was more than happy to pay, over and over again, for as long as they’d let him.