240112 - Jimin For Harper's Bazaar Japan

Need to be mindful of this message…

Give yourself kindness when things are a mess! Whether it's physically in your space, or more abstractly in your life, we all need time to sort things out and get the right processes in place.

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I love this man with every fiber of my being! And I miss him so very much!

A namjoon a day while he's away

227 days to go

Do you know that i love this dork?????

He is just…😍😍😍

MC Joon for The Dictionary of Useless Knowledge

Another gem!

Timeless Masterlist

Author: vyduan Pairing: Kim Seokjin| Reader, Min Yoongi | Reader Genre: angst, idolverse, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, slow burn, canon compliant, smut Word Count: 22.7k Rating: Explicit, 18+ Warnings: Swearing, misogynistic language, light descriptions of oral sex (f to m) and thigh riding, light descriptions of Christian trauma, additional tags as the story progresses

Notes: Listen. I am not normally this indulgent, I swear. But after the last chapter of Indomitable, a reader wondered what would have happened if Y/N met BTS first – before Johnny ever had a chance to break her heart. And now, here we are. An AU to an AU. The timeline is the same as all other Her series AUs up until she gets scouted in a Taipei club. Instead of calling the scout back, Y/N goes back to school and finishes out college. 

As with all the others, this story is self-contained (though it may be illuminating to read the others for fun) and does not require any previous knowledge of this universe. 

Summary: Bored and burnt out, Taiwanese/Taiwanese American pop star Y/N visits Seoul to meet with top producers to revamp her image and sound. Little did she expect to run into SUGA of BTS, the man who had humiliated and broken her naïve little heart years ago. She takes comfort in Jin, the idol who had kept in touch with her all this time (and perhaps, carries a torch for her).

Timeless Masterlist [IN PROGRESS]: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue | AO3

“Her” Series Masterlist For more of my fics, here is my Masterlist.

I can’t believe I only found this now! I love this couple so much! The story and pacing were perfect!!!

Open Chest

Namjoon and you were in medical school together, but you haven't seen him since you moved away for work. Until he turns up at your hospital for a fellowship.

Pairing: Namjoon x F!reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 15k

Genre: Non-idol AU, smut, fluff, mild angst

Warnings: Sexually explicit content, explicit language, mentions of blood and medical procedures.

Part 1

Part 2

Epilogue

masterlist

Keep reading

Really excited for this story! Bloom was one of my favorite fanfics! I really dig this whole soulmate au world that has the partners basically feeding of each other’s energy and emotions.

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader (afab)

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), realistic depictions of cancer and cancer treatment; mention of unfeatured character death (previous to plot); emotional health growth and development; eventual smut; feelings and dealing with feelings (no, but seriously, so many feelings)

Author's Note: First and foremost - Blame Me chapter 1 will still be tentatively dropping by the end of the week. However, this just literally wrote itself last night after a couple of drinks and several streams of Lonely 💔. It was the thing that just poured out of me and could not be stopped. It's been simmering in the back of my brain for a while, and so, now that it's out here, I'm going to be posting it in tandem with Blame Me, probably on alternate weeks (if I can manage it, 😅). I want to give credit to those whose works I have read which have come to set the stage for my concept of the soulmate au, and who are far my betters in creative artistry: Matchy, author of balls-to-the-walls masterpiece Trip No Further, Fallencairns, author of lovely work of art Turbulence, and @teenagebountyhunter , to whom I dedicate this work 💜 the author of the ineffably beautiful Namjoon soulmate fic Bloom (RUN to read this immediately) - the inspiration for what is to humbly follow below. If you're checking this out, thanks a million for reading, and please don't be shy in offering feedback should you be so inclined! (Baby fic writer here, constructive criticism always welcome!)

Without further ado, chapter one is under the cut.

P.S. Tag list is open. If you want in, let me know. 😊

P.P.S. In case no one has told you today, you're loved and worthy of love. 🧜💜

“When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight? Why did they stop at my lips, so suddenly, why do I know them, as if once before, I have touched them, as if, before being, they traveled my forehead, my waist?”

~ Pablo Neruda

Chapter 1: The Cure

Diana dipped another three fries in ketchup and popped them into her mouth.

"So, what do you need to talk about that has you desperate enough to buy me lunch?" She smiled smugly and sipped and her milkshake. You hadn't touched the burger in front of you, even if you probably should be absolutely relishing in it, considering your future prospects. You picked up a sweet potato fry and stared at it absently.

"I found my soulmate," you stated flatly. Diana's jaw dropped mid-chew, unpleasantly framing the masticated remains of a mouthful of turkey club.

"Wait, are you serious?" she pressed, round hazel eyes wide and unblinking. You dipped the fry down into the little cup of ranch and swirled it around slowly.

"Actually, he found me. Well, his people found me," you continued. 

"Huh? So is he some kind of a big deal - wait...they found you? What does that even mean? Wait, no - you have a soulmate?!" You smiled ruefully. It was kind of nice to see someone else freaking out about it for a change. You had known your little sister would react strongly, which is why you had waited until now give her the news. "Y/n, ANSWERS," Diana demanded leaning forward to flick your forehead. 

"Ow!" you protested, rubbing the throbbing spot on your brow. "Keep your pants on, geez!" You sighed. After having relayed this story to your mom, your doctor, a specialist, legal advisory, your best friend, your brother and his wife, and your very disappointed boss, you had gotten pretty good telling it. Yet, somehow, each time the burden of it's truth felt a little heavier. You ate the fry. It was pretty good. You wished it had sucked so it wouldn't be one more edible thing you missed the prospect of.

"So apparently, a couple of years ago a university in Switzerland found a way to match soulmates using DNA testing. Don't ask me about the exact science of it - I do not understand it. What I do know is that it's illegal to use this technology to locate your soulmate in the US."

"Why?" Diana had abandoned her food and was listening with rapt attention.

"Something about privacy rights. Though they've dealt with that issue in Switzerland - people interested in finding their soulmates join a biological registry. I'm sure our government is just waiting to find a way that big pharma can exploit it before they facilitate the process. Anyway, somehow, I ended up in a foreign registry. I guess there is a black market for soulmate data..."

"Oh my god, could I be on the black market?" Diana gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.

"I guess anyone could, provided they've ever been treated at a hospital, or given blood, or anything of the sort...but calm down! It doesn't even matter unless you have a match, which is rare."

"So he found you on the black market?! That's so fucking sketchy, Y/n."

"It was his company, actually. I got a visit from representatives of an organization called Hybe. They are some kind of South Korean entertainment conglomerate. One of their employees, a musician, is dying of cancer. Seeing if he had a soulmate was a last-ditch effort to save his life. Now everything is banking on me and my cooperation." You flicked your eyes up to your sister. Her expression had morphed into something far more somber.

"Heavy..." she whispered. You nodded. "What are you gonna do?" You took a bite of your burger. She wasn't going to like your answer. Diana's face changed again, this time registering alarm and indignation. "No," she murmured, "No, Y/n. You're just gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna go be the fucking hero! You're going to traipse off to Korea and save his sketchy, ungrateful ass!" She stood up, her chair screeching back over the concrete and drawing the attention of other diners on the patio. You glanced around apologetically.

"Diana, sit down! And how do you know if he's grateful or not?!" you hissed.

"No!" she countered defiantly, yanking her hand away from where you had reached for it. "You always do this! You never, ever think of yourself. And now you'll be gone forever...is this even safe?" Tears had started to well up in her eyes, and the glances around you had turned into stares and whispers. You stood up and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Lets get out of here and I can answer all of your questions, alright?" She sniffled.

"Okay. But you're not leaving me." You smiled and huffed out a laugh pulling her toward the parking lot.

You had anticipated that Diana would disapprove of your decision, and it being as difficult a situation as it was, you had decided to make all the arrangements and choices necessary before telling her. She loved you so fiercely, she would have watched the world burn before letting you break a nail, if she could help it. After your father's death nearly twenty years ago, you had become protector and provider to Diana and your younger brother Henry, three years her senior, in ways your sensitive and unworldly mother seemed unequipped to shoulder. If they had both not been so established and secure in the trajectory of their adult lives, you would have made it clear to Hybe that you regrettably had nonnegotiable responsibilities right where you were. But Henry was settled into a suburb with a lovely wife and year-old daughter, Diana was set to finish undergrad and head off to nursing school, and the deal with Hybe had actually allowed you to leverage for your Mom's retirement, so you were boarding a flight to Korea next week to take on a new set of cares and concerns.

You tossed your keys on the table on your way into your apartment and collapsed onto your comfy red couch. While Diana rooted around your fridge and loudly complained about the lack of hard seltzer, you sorted through the mail and made a mental note to add a forwarding address on a few of your accounts and subscriptions, including the one supplying you with Nightwing comics. You set the mail aside and took a moment to look around you. You loved your little apartment. The kitchen was small, but the big window with the spider plant hanging in it made it one of your favorite rooms - the herb garden on the counter and the fully stocked bar above the fridge did nothing to make you like it any less. The earthy brown walls of the living space were littered with shelves full of candles and living plants and quirky curios, and in and amongst them hung framed watercolors of flowers and herbs that you had painted yourself. The record player sat at the ready in the corner by the wall dedicated almost exclusively to books and vinyl. There was a small tv over the stone-lined fireplace. Over your shoulder your soft, queen sized bed with sheer canopy cozily called your named from the single bedroom. The whole place smelled like citrus and cinnamon. In every corner, there was you. It was going to be hard to leave the hobbit hole you had so lovingly curated for yourself over the last half-a-decade...especially since you wouldn't be going "there and back again", but just...there. Diana plopped down next to you,  breaking your reverie.

"So, you're NOT going, but tell me about the huge mistake you ALMOST made," Diana prompted as she side-eyed you, taking a sip of the wine she had poured herself. You set the comic book you had been thumbing through aside and drew your knees up to your chest as you swiveled to face her impatient stare.

"Last week, a these three people showed up at my door, two men and a woman, and they said they were from a company called Hybe based in South Korea. One of their employees, a singer named Kim Namjoon, has stage 4 liver cancer. I guess they caught it pretty late in the game, so even the most aggressive treatments aren't doing much good. Back in April the doctor gave him two months to live."

"Damn," Diana interjected softly.

"Yeah, that's why all of this is happening so fast. He needs me as soon as I can get there."

"We need you, too," she whispered, reaching out to loop her finger into the top of your sock. You smiled affectionately.

"I know, Di, but you're a grown woman now and you can take care of yourself. You're going to have to and I know you can. Life really won't be that different - you'll be off to school in San Diego anyway! Most of our hangouts were going to be over Facetime...now you'll just have an excuse for a little international travel." She heaved a stuttering sigh.

"Speaking of travel...Johnny broke up with me," she mumbled. Your mouth hung open in shock.

"Oh my god, Di, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me?" She downed her remaining wine and stared into the empty glass, twirling it between her fingers.

"I was gonna, but when I told mom last week she said to wait to talk to you about it because you were dealing with something stressful. Now I know what she meant." You shook your head.

"Ugh, Mom..." Your sweet, nonconfrontational mother, while you loved her deeply, was a horrible communicator. Whenever she got involved things like this always ended up worse. You looked at your sister twiddling with her wine glass. She looked so small. And Diana, while she exuded many things, very rarely seemed diminutive. You grabbed her and pulled her to you, and she instantly snuggled into your chest. "I'm sorry you've had to hold that in all this time," You said softly, stroking her hair, "You really could have told me. How are you doing? Was it bad?" She shook her head against you.

"Nah, it wasn't so bad. He's going to travel before starting grad school and wants to 'sow some wild oats'," she answered, flashing air quotes. You couldn't see her face, but the acerbic nature of her tone told you just exactly what she thought of that concept. You snickered. Atta' girl. You'd never liked that guy much, anyway.

"What an asshole," you remarked.

"Yeah, he better not hit me up in a couple of months when he's done fucking his way through Europe."

"Fuuuuuck that," you commiserated. 

"Yeah, so I thought this summer would be our last hurrah. You know, no guys, just you and me...like old times" Diana mumbled in a voice that was all sulking and bottom lip. 

"Ahhh," you said with a smile, "So that's why you are so disappointed. Well, we still have a few days - we can make the most of them!" Diana lifted her head from your chest and glared up at you.

"Boys ruin everything!" She whined. You smirked softly.

"Usually I would agree with you, but the one I'm leaving for seems kind of decent, actually." Diana frowned.

"How do you know? Did he call you or something? Wait, you never finished telling me your story!" You hummed in assent.

"I mean, there's not much more to tell. I agreed to move out there to bond with him and begin treatment. I signed a really basic contract that will be revised when he is well enough to think about the future - or in a year, whichever comes first. They were pretty quick to meet my terms, I guess they didn't really have much choice since I was the one holding the all the cards."

"What does any of that have to do with him being a good guy?"

"Oh," you blinked, "It doesn't. You see, when they met with me they talked a lot about him. It was almost like a job interview or something. They talked about his accomplishments, his net worth, the importance of his work, and his worthiness as a person. One of the guys was actually one of his bandmates, and he had come specifically as a character reference. They had initially wanted me to sign the contract right there and then - and let me tell you, that kid they brought with them almost convinced me with his giant puppy eyes alone - but in the end I had asked for forty-eight hours to consult legal advisory and think it over. The first thing I did when they left was look him up. You actually probably already know who he is - I think I might have been the only person in the world who didn't. Have you ever heard of BTS?" Diana jumped back like she'd been stung, clutching her chest.

"Are you about to tell me that your soulmate is a member of the biggest band in the world?" she whispered, her eyes impossibly wide. You smirked. 

"Not just a member, Di...their leader." Diana shrieked, leaping up off the couch.

"RM??? Your soulmate is RM???" You sister stared at you, agape, while you threw your hands up in indignation.

"I was the only person!"

"Oh my god..." Diana staggered back, demeanor having deviated sharply from disapproval to elation, "My roommate is obsessed with them! She has all these posters - but her favorite, I'm sorry, her bias, is Suga...holy shit, I can't WAIT to tell her she's gonna-"

"Diana," you interrupted her firmly, and her eyes shot up to you.

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone." Her face fell as she leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace. Clearly this was going to be even more of an emotional roller-coaster for her than it was for you, you thought in amusement. Typical.

"Everyone who I tell has to sign a gag order. You included." Diana slid down the wall into a slump and knocked her head back.

"This situation keeps harshing my vibes, dude," she whined.

"Well, I'm exceedingly sorry about your vibes, but I'm sure they'll recover," you rejoined sardonically.

"But woah, Y/n, your boyfriend is hot. And rich. And super famous. Your wedding is going to be fucking LIT..." 

"Woah, Nellie!" You cut her off, waving your hands as if you usher her train of thought into the landing strip of sanity.  "Slow. Down. Wedding?? What happened to 'sketchy, ungrateful ass'?! He is NOT my boyfriend. He's supposedly my soulmate. According to some Swiss pseudoscience. We haven't even bonded yet. And if we do in fact bond, that doesn't mean we're a couple." Diana popped her head up and fixed you with the most incredulous of stares.

"Um, excuse me...soulmates have to touch each other to survive. And I heard that the soulmate connection is better than sex. You're telling me you have the opportunity, nay, the duty, to be up in the business of one of the sexiest men alive, and you're just gonna platonically kick it for the next seventy years?" You rolled your eyes.

"I mean, if that's what he wants - if that's what I want. Soulmates doesn't automatically equate lovers. I've been reading about people's experiences and there are some soulmates who bond platonically. Some people are already with romantic partners when they meet. Some don't share a sexual orientation that makes them compatible as lovers..."

"Oh my god, Y/n, could you please not kill the sexy by going all nerd on this?" She asked you in exasperation as her finger swiped at her phone screen. Suddenly she shoved the phone out toward you, while tapping frantically with a neon yellow acrylic nail on the image she had summoned. She was saying something humorous and complaintive but you weren't listening. You were looking at the man in the photo. You hadn't seen this one in your superficial search-engine dives. It was a headshot. His hair was a light brown, full at the top and styled away from his face. His skin was darker than in many of the other images you had seen, emanating a beautiful golden glow. He was smiling just enough for his right dimple to softly grace his cheek. He features were strong, masculine, and incredibly handsome. All of that was already striking, but his eyes, oh, his eyes - they were staring directly at the camera, irises only half visible under his lidded gaze, warm and sincere, so incredibly intense. The hair stood up on the back of your neck and your breath caught in your chest in spite of you. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath. You needed to calm down. He was just a person. Good looking? Yes. Charismatic? Obviously. But you had a job to do, and no time to screw around with schoolgirl daydreams. He probably had a girlfriend. No, definitely, he definitely had one. And hey, he was just a person, like you. No need to be star struck...Diana had been continuing her rant, completely unaware of being ignored, when she had let out a high pitched squeal of laughter. "Oh my god...oh my god!" She shrieked.

"What?" You snapped, your hormone-wrestling train of thought cut off abruptly. She stared at you, lips pressed together as if she was trying to contain more loud giggles.

"What??" You demanded impatiently, your limit for her antics very swiftly approaching.

"RM. K-pop superstar, probably one of the coolest people ever born, gets YOUR dorky ass as a soulmate, HAH!" "Hey!" you deflated, unimpressed with what she considered to be so vastly comical.

"Oh that poor man!" she pushed dramatically, "That poor, poor man. You're the least graceful, geekiest person in the western hemisphere. What will you even talk about? Good thing you don't speak Korean, you'd probably bore him to death! Shit, at least you're pretty..." You folded your arms over your chest defensively.

"Hilarious. But actually, he's fluent in English. And I read somewhere that he likes art..."

"Y/n, he's rich," she interrupted condescendingly, "All rich people like art. It's a huge flex to own an original. If I was a billionaire I'd 'like art' too. Oh my god, I just can't believe this is happening. Like he's crazy famous..."

"And very, very sick," you reminded her softly. Her expression fell into something contrite.

"Oh, shit, I forgot," she murmured.

"I'm glad you're excited for me, Di. It really made me feel a lot better about the whole situation seeing you get some kind of joy out of it. But I can't stress enough that this isn't a fairytale. Who knows how he feels about resorting to this. I guarantee you this is as hard for him as it is for me."

Diana crossed over to the couch and skooched in next to you.

"All jokes aside, he's lucky to have you, Y/n. You love at a thousand percent. Even if you guys just end up being soul-buddies, or whatever, he hit the jackpot," she smiled at you, that sweet smile that made you rethink everything for one split second. Now it was your turn to try to hold back tears. "I'm gonna miss you," she murmured, "But I respect what you're doing."

"Now that he's famous?" You prodded with a teasing smile.

"Yeah, now that he's famous," she conceded. You pulled her into a hug. The silence that hung around you was pregnant but comfortable. Diana finally broke it with a soft question.

"So you're really going to give your whole life away for a total stranger next week?" she whispered.

"Mmhm," you hummed somberly into her hair.

"Why you always gotta be like Dad?" A familiar lump began to form in your throat, but you swallowed it back. You always did. And Diana fell asleep in your lap one last time. You stroked her hair as you thought back, rather emotionally exhausted, over your conversation. It seemed like people thought of the soulmate connection as some kind of miracle. You didn't believe in those. People made choices, and those choices governed reality. You had just made the biggest choice of your life, and if it was like any of the other roads you had taken, it would require much of you. 

***************************

The following day was your last at work. Your coworkers had greeted you with pizza, cake, flowers, and hugs. It was touching to realize how much you would be missed. Your boss, Shauna, hovered as you gathered you belongings from your desk. 

"Damn it to hell, I'm gonna miss you!" She mourned for the umpteenth time. You smiled as you tucked your little philodendron into the box, placing it next to the canvas speckled with daisies that read "You Matter" in curly green letters. 

"You have an amazing team here, you guys will do great," you insisted, patting her hand where she leaned on your desk.

"Um, a great team of people you trained!" she said, consoling herself with a swipe of frosting from what had once been a beautiful red velvet cake with white buttercream. You leaned beside her on the desk, joining her in sadly picking at the dessert remains. After you had graduated with your degree in social work, you had landed an internship in a program which Shauna was running. The two of you quickly discovered you had similar passions and community goals, and the following year had left the program to start Magnolia Village, a one-stop shop for women's services sadly unprecedented in your area. While the startup had been rough, your passionate duo had believed in the need and refused to say die, and from your mutual blood, sweat, and tears had blossomed a cornerstone of the local community. Over the years it had grown and extended its reach to thousands in need of support. Many of the staff were women who had first come through the door seeking services, and were now your partners in providing the aid they had found empowering in their hour of need. You were immensely proud of what the two of you had built, but leaving the Village was bittersweet, as you were more confident than ever that it had grown into a well-oiled machine powered by lovely, capable people who could keep it going at full tilt without you.

"This place basically built itself, we just propped up the scaffolding," you remarked, glancing around the building fondly - what had once been a residential fixer-upper was now a cozy space of offices, a nurse's station, six emergency beds, sanitation services, and a food pantry

"Bitch, you know very well that I am the bulldozer and you are the heart and soul of this place. We are going to feel it when you leave. You better come back and visit us. Mirabell is going to do a good job filling your shoes, though. Watching her step up to the plate has been something else." 

"It has," you nodded, "She's going to kick ass. You might just forget I was ever here by the end of next week." Shauna turned uncharacteristically tearful eyes toward you.

"I will never forget you," she choked. Then suddenly you were being crushed in a bear hug. You returned her embrace until you thought you might actually pass out from lack of oxygen.

"Okay, I love you, but I'm about to asphyxiate!" you wheezed, slapping her on the shoulder.

She let you go, but grabbed your arm and looked at you seriously. "I want you to promise me one thing," she said, holding your gaze. You cocked your head to the side. Shauna released your arm to clasp both your hands in hers. "I want you to promise me that when you get to Korea, you find something that you're gonna do for yourself." You started to respond but she stopped you. "Something for yourself. It doesn't matter what it is, but it can't be for your soulmate, or your family, or anyone else however deserving...just you, okay?" You looked at her quizzically.

"I do stuff for me..." 

"Don't get swallowed up, baby girl. Find someone to ground you, to remind you that you're worth more than what you have to offer." You scoffed.

"I'd like to see someone try and swallow me..."

"Y/n,"

"What?"

"Promise me."

"Okay," you nodded, "I promise."

Shauna squeezed your hands, then went back to chipping away at the mass of red crumbs and buttercream.

A little twinge of worry twisted in the pit of your stomach. You were strong. Resilient. No one could bounce back like you, could survive like you. People knew this - they had been telling you so since you were ten years old. So why was everyone acting like you were being cast out to sea without a life preserver? 

*****************************

You had spent the weekend with your family. Henry and Mercedes had even driven down, Elena in tow, to have one last Sunday dinner and see you off to the airport. Hugs and tears and small parting gifts had made leaving even harder than you had imagined. When you finally boarded the plane your eyes were red and your head was throbbing. After the plane had gained enough altitude to allow you to unfasten your seat-belt, you had slipped into the restroom to rinse your face. You returned, plopping down next to the man who would accompany you during your first few days of transition.

"I'm getting booze when they wheel it by, Matt, so don't try to stop me," you huffed, gesticulating in mild threat with the book you had extracted from your carry-on at the suited figure sitting in the window seat. The handsome older gentleman smiled, not lifting his eyes from the copy of the Korean Herald in his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he responded, flipping a large, thin page. Matt Anders had been many things to you in life. Before you were born, he had been your father's best friend. He had been the best man at your parent's wedding. He and his wife, Rebecca, had cared for you and your siblings during your mother's sanitarium stay. He had tutored you for the SAT score that had earned you a full ride to the university that had saddled you with a BS in social work and minor in English literature. Today, he was your attorney. Matt, who had an IQ of 146, had learned basic Korean so that he could translate for you and make sure that your interests were looked after as you settled in. Having him there made you feel one hundred percent more secure about the process. He, for instance, had been the one in negotiations to ask for the very cush business-class fight accommodations you were new settling into.

        "Whatever you would do for him, you'll do for her. I want an equality of treatment clause added with no addendums."

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his exchange with the Hybe's representation. He had asked for things you would have never asked for yourself, and you felt better having access to them knowing that he felt you were deserving. The flight attendant sweetly asked if you would require any refreshments. You asked for two whiskey and cokes, and handed one over to the man beside you. You took a long, refreshing sip.

"Damn it, I wish I had appreciated food more," you sighed, looking ruefully at your glass.

"What are you going to miss the most?" Matt asked before sampling his own beverage.

"Cheese. I can't believe I'm saying that, but in the end I just love cheese. And there are so many kinds I haven't tried. Do you know there's this Italian cheese that comes in the shape of a pear? It's super expensive because of the breed of cow the milk is sourced from. It's supposedly suuuuper creamy. But, hey, now I'll never know if it's as rich and complex as they say..." you took another sip of your drink.

"Caciocavallo Podolico," Matt remarked casually, returning to his newspaper.

"Excuse me?"

"The cheese you described, it's called Caciocavallo Podolico," he reiterated.

"You know, I should be used to it now, but I'm not. Don't think I'll ever be. How on earth do you know this stuff?" you insisted incredulously.

"Read it once," he shrugged, "And it's actually pretty famous as far as cheeses go."

"Catch-a-vayo Picadillo..." you murmured.

"No," Matt interjected succinctly. "Anything you want to go over again? We have the time, Lord knows." You sighed.

"Can't think of anything right now. What did you think of the list of questions I sent you?" 

"Very good," he nodded, "I'll be adding a few of my own, that I think should come from me, if you don't mind." You swirled the ice in your plastic cup.

"Of course not. Thanks again for coming with me, I'd be pretty lost without you." Matt smiled at you again, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

"You'd do just fine. But you would be flying coach." You smirked and cracked open your book. As you flipped to your marked page, a colorful, sturdy rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground at Matt's feet. He reached down and picked it up, regarding it with a curious eye before you could snatch it quickly away and tuck it back between the pages of My Antonia.

"New bookmark?" he queried.

"Something like that," you murmured. You thought he might press you further about the Hangul characters he had surely noted on the back, but just then the captain's voice crackled over the intercom reiterating the weather conditions in Seoul and you took the opportunity to bury your nose back between the pages. You glanced clandestinely over at Matt, who had settled back into the Korean Herald, before pulling the little watercolor card from between the pages where it had been hurriedly concealed. Your eyes traced over the purple clematis trailing elegantly across the illustration as you wondered if 12 hours was, in fact, a millisecond or an eternity.

-End Ch. 1-

I can watch this all day…

jungkook — 'seven' official performance video

Aaaaah my chest 😩😩😩🤧 ex husband joon sounds so 😩😩😩ughhhhhhi want them to work out like TALK IT OUT GUYS!!!!

You know, I read this and immediately thought what this Namjoon would be like trying to talk it out.

Pairing: Namjoon x f!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, Namjoon's an asshole

Your husband, Kim Namjoon, is generally punctual, but he’s unfailingly, always late to your appointments with your marriage counsellor.

It’s a power play, he wants to show you that you can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, even if it’s your marriage at stake.

Your husband, Kim Namjoon, is unfailingly, always an asshole.

It was hot when you were in college together, when he’d stroll in, thick thighs stretching out grey sweatpants, sit next to you and copy over your shoulder in politics class.

It was hot on your wedding day, when he got bored at the wedding dinner and dragged you into an alcove to shoot his cum down your throat whilst telling you to ‘swallow it down like a good girl, Mrs Kim.’

Honestly, it’s even sometimes hot now, when you’re pissed off at him for being late and he saunters in, manspreads on the couch and nudges your thigh none too subtly when your counsellor Mrs Lee says something he doesn’t agree with.

Namjoon embraces his feral side with a don’t give a fuck attitude you can’t help but admire even as you want to throttle him.

You’ve tried to throttle him a few times but he just laughs and pins your hands over your head and fucks the anger out of you.

You’re in the middle of telling Mrs Lee about your week when Namjoon enters the room. He apologises for being late, the good Korean boy in him coming to the fore just in time to charm her and prevent her from yellow carding him.

If this were a game of football, and you a referee, your husband would be banned for the season for his unsportsmanlike behaviour.

You try your best to hide your sour expression as he presents Mrs Lee with a small succulent for being so accommmodating with her time.

Namjoon excuses himself to make a telephone call, even though he’s just arrived at this counselling session, and you’re sorely tempted to stab him with Mrs Lee’s silver pen.

Your phone vibrates in your bag, and you’re reaching for it when Namjoon returns.

He sits next to you quietly, and to your surprise, the next 45 minutes are spent talking through the difference in the way you and he communicate with each other. He doesn’t so much as roll his eyes once.

As Mrs Lee sums up, you catch him eyeing your thigh where your skirt has ridden up slightly.

Ah, there he is, your familiar asshole. Hidden but never really gone.

Namjoon follows you out of Mrs Lee’s plush, soothingly neutral office, and into the car park.

‘Can you give me a ride?’ he asks.

‘To where?’

‘I have a date. It’s at the French bistro downtown.’

‘We’re still married, Namjoon, why are you going on a date?’

‘Keeping my options open?’ he suggests. The asshole has the audacity to smirk at you.

‘Nah. You can walk,’ you snap.

‘It’s not a date,’ he says, quickly. ‘I’m meeting Yoongi.’

You stare him down.

Finally you say, ‘OK. I’ll drop you off at the subway.’

You unlock the car, get in, and wait for Namjoon to fold his long frame into the passenger seat.

He gets in, pointedly adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs, reclines the back.

‘C’mere,’ he says, voice low, husky.

He spreads his legs a little, lets the bulge in his crotch show against the thin material of his pants.

Your husband’s at least half-hard, and you’re angry with yourself for even contemplating helping him out.

Shit.

You’ve spent too much time thinking about it.

You can hear the smirk in his voice even without looking at him.

Namjoon says, ‘Look straight ahead, ok?’

His warm hand slips over your bare thigh, under your skirt.

‘I can see your bra,’ he tells you, conversational. ‘It’s that lacy one isn't it? Makes me want to bust a nut just looking at it.’

His other hand skims the front of your chest, tweaks your nipple.

You bite down on your lower lip as he caresses you over the thin material of your blouse.

‘If we weren’t here I’d be sucking on your tits now,’ he continues. ‘Getting your nipples nice and hard for me.’

He laughs softly. ‘Look at yourself, baby.’

Despite your better judgement, you drop your gaze to where your nipple is pressing against his thumb, peaked and so sensitive you could scream.

Namjoon flicks his thumb over your nipples, back and forth, only reluctantly dropping his hand when someone walks past on the way to their car.

Thank fuck you have an SUV.

Namjoon slides his hand under your skirt, fingers reaching straight for your core.

You can both hear how wet you are.

‘Fuck,’ Namjoon swears. His hand ghosts over his crotch, you can see the outline of his hardness so clearly now you know he’s almost fully erect.

You reach out to touch him, and he stops you.

‘Let me feel you first, ok?’

Namjoon pushes your legs apart, strokes his long fingers over you.

‘Look at this messy cunt,’ he grunts. He slips a finger into you, and you whimper at the invasion.

‘Joon!’

‘Use me,’ he murmurs. He slips another finger inside you, and the stretch is so good you’re moaning.

He rocks his thumb over your clit, leans over to mouth at your neck.

His tongue laps over your skin.

‘Wanna taste you,’ he groans.

His forearm flexes as his fingers move in and out of you, curving, hitting your sweet spot with the precision of a man who’s spent years learning what you like.

You come with a gush of wet that makes him groan again, loud.

‘Fuck,’ he pants, using his wet hand to stroke himself.

‘Wait, fuck,’ you cry, beyond caring that you’re pushing the boundaries of public indecency.

You lift your leg over and climb on top of him.

‘Fuck, baby,’ Namjoon grunts. His strong arms curl around you as you seat yourself onto his rigid cock.

He hisses. ‘Fuck, gonna come, fuck.’

He grinds you down into his lap, big hands either side of your hips. A moment later you can feel him twitching inside you.

Namjoon buries his face in the back of your neck.

In amongst the impassioned swearing he moans your name, like he can’t stop himself.

***

A baby wipe cleanup and several muttered curses on both your parts later, you find yourself dropping Namjoon off at the bistro.

‘Fuck, Yoongi’s going to be pissed, I’m so late,’ Namjoon says.

He makes no move to go, though, flashing a dimple at you, mischief in his eyes.

‘Should I just cancel on him and take you home instead?’

‘Don’t be an asshole,’ you tell him.

Namjoon laughs quietly.

‘Yeah.’

He gets out then, and just before he closes the door he says, ‘Hey. Ignore the texts I sent you earlier, ok?’

‘What texts?’

‘I didn’t really have a phone call to make at our counselling session earlier. I spent the time texting you instead,’ he confesses.

‘Kim Namjoon, if you sent me a bunch of dick pics I’ll block you,’ you threaten.

‘Yeah, it’s dick pics, I don’t mind if you save them,’ he says. He winks at you, slams the door closed and then he’s off, hurrying across the street.

***

You’re snuggling into bed when you remember you haven’t checked Namjoon’s messages.

Your husband has a beautiful dick, you’ve seen it plenty but you figure you could always use a visual reminder.

You click on the picture and freeze.

It’s a picture of you and Namjoon in college when you first started dating. He’s got his arm around you, most of his face obscured by a cap but you can see just enough to know he’s smiling. You’re tucked into his side, face bright with adoration.

You both look so young.

You both look so fucking happy.

A tear slides down your cheek.

Your vision blurs but you can see enough to read the next message.

I miss you.

You’re still thinking about him as you fall asleep.

©hamsterclaw 2023

Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count - 600 

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