Holy Shit! This Is Fucking Good!! More Please!

Sorry, but I can’t choose between some of the options 😆 Can someone please write more of those tropes for the LOML Namjoon? Like, there are so very little new fics with Namjoon as the main character. 🙁

got bored and wanted to do a tag game :p this was super interesting! i feel like these go for what i tend to read and write as well, not just one or the other 🧐

tagging: @junkissed @neo-shitty @beomcoups @hannieween @jalitepng @dreamescapeswriting @agustdiv1ne @redsaurrce + anyone else who wants to do it :)

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-

♡︎ — us, ourselves, and bts

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗱 ♡

Ahhh! So that’s what Smoke Sprite means! I was wondering about that!

무한한 황소윤

단정 짓는 순간 확장되는 ‘소윤무한육면각체’. 소윤의 정규 2집 가 증거다.새소년이 기획하는 ‘Hello, World!’ 시리즈 공연을 지난 주말 봤습니다. 팬데믹이라 3년 만에 열렸어요. ‘Hello, World’는 프로그래머가 프로그래밍 언어

in an interview with vogue korea soyoon said smoke sprite “refers to the effect that people disappear when they explode like a bomb in a cartoon”

This hurts me to the core…I’m still not over loosing our sassy Duchess even after all these years. It hurts to think about her and she still visits me in my dreams …

Business Proposal || knj (3/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 6.5k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

prev || next || m.list

a/n: Kind off a filler chapter, but also let the drama commence we are literally just getting started haha. Again, I’m going to be pretty busy for the next month so I don’t know when I’ll upload another part. But I hope you like this one and as always lmk your thoughts. Thank you.xx

The knot in your throat is hard to ignore as you put away your belongings in cardboard boxes. The tiny apartment that served as your home is looking more barren with the more things you take down and pack. Jungkook always made fun of you for giving meaning to silly things and getting attached to them. He calls you a hoarder and maybe he is correct about you hoarding shit you don’t ever need, but you call yourself a collector.

Keep reading

🤣

Namjoon is 1000% done with these guys

Love, Lust & Litigation | Interlude - NYE (Namjoon POV)

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader x Namjoon

Genre: lawyer!AU, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

Rating: M (18+) whole fic, this chapter PG-13 (for language)

Warnings: some swearing in this chapter, nothing explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Unfortunately, you have developed a massive crush on your new boss. Even more unfortunately, your equally attractive coworker is also harboring massive crush on your boss. AKA Jungkook and reader both pine for big, sexy brain Namjoon. 

A/N: It's been a long time coming but here she is! The next installment of LL&L! This takes place in the middle of Chapter 5. More about it in the A/N at the end. Thanks for all your patience as I got over a bit of writer's block (and writer's unmotivation lmao). This is my first time writing a member's POV, so hopefully I did it justice!

As always, I’d love feedback if you have any! Enjoy ~

mlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | interlude | ch 6

Namjoon Kim doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions. 

It’s a stupid concept, in his humble opinion. Not only is it an arbitrary date to make a change, most people spend the first day of the new year recovering from the night before. Can anyone really make any progress toward their goals while nursing a massive hangover?  

No. If Namjoon wants to make a change, he’ll just do it. He won’t wait until Monday, or to the first of the month. He'll just do it.

Of course, if anyone asks if he’s made any resolutions, he’ll just smile and say “Oh, you know, the usual,” or some other noncommittal answer. His coworkers don’t need to know he thinks it’s a stupid concept. He hasn’t gotten to where he is today by ranting about the uselessness of New Year’s resolutions. 

This year, though, this year might be different.

He arrives late to Jimin’s New Year’s Eve party. Everyone at Jimin's fancy high-rise apartment is past buzzed and barreling toward black-out drunk, and here he is, newly arrived and sober. 

Before he can go in search of alcohol, Jimin finds him. 

“You’re late! Why are you late? It’s New Year’s Eve!” 

Some urgent thing at work kept him there. It seemed life-changing and super important in the moment, but as Namjoon opens his mouth to answer, for the life of him, he can’t remember exactly what it was.

Jimin flaps his hand as if to wave the question out of the air before Namjoon can think of anything to say. 

“Whatever. The more important issue is, you’re not sparkling!” 

The theme for the party is “Sparkle or Bust,” in reference to both drinks and outfits. Namjoon doesn’t make a habit of keeping spare sequined shirts in his office, so he’s in one of his work suits, sans tie and jacket. 

Several hours’ worth of alcohol dulls Jimin’s outrage at Namjoon’s failure to follow the theme and he hands Namjoon a bedazzled NYE tiara and a glass of champagne without further berating.

“There. Much better.” 

Jimin leaves as suddenly as he arrived. 

Namjoon stays on the periphery of the party, sipping on the champagne. He recognizes people from work and some of Jimin’s friends he’s met in the past, but they’re all involved in their own conversations. 

His gaze wanders from person to person, wondering if any of them made resolutions, if they’ve ever kept them. If anything has ever changed—actually changed—by making a resolution for the new year. 

If it’s even worth it to hope for a change.

He keeps looking and his eyes catch on a familiar figure across the room. Jungkook, wearing a ridiculous, shiny blazer that he has no business looking so good in. Namjoon’s stomach does a little flip as he notices, not for the first time, how Jungkook’s shoulders fill out the blazer, broad and strong. He’s talking with Taehyung, Jimin’s roommate, a tall eccentric whose family owns half the city.

The crowd shifts, and Namjoon’s stomach flips again when he catches sight of you, looking increasingly irritated at the conversation between the two men. Now you’re rolling your eyes, annoyed at something they’ve said. 

Namjoon’s eyes follow you as you yank the sliding glass doors to the balcony open. Before he knows it, he’s making his way to the door, murmuring his apologies as he tries not to bulldoze his coworkers out of the way. 

Before Namjoon can reach the door, Jungkook is already there, round eyes apologetic and pleading as he slips out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. Namjoon stops in the middle of the crowd. 

He’s too late. 

Again. 

He tips the contents of his champagne glass down his throat. It’s not enough to quiet the self-loathing, but enough to carry him to the glass door and peer out onto the balcony. 

You’re looking up at Jungkook, something like disappointment on your face. He has his hands on your shoulders, rubbing the bare skin to warm you up in the cold. Your expression softens. You’re forgiving him for whatever transgression he has committed. 

An ugly roil of feelings churns in Namjoon’s gut, a mix of jealousy, envy, and longing he doesn’t want to untangle. 

Regret, though, is what he feels the most. There were so many moments when he could have done something, anything, when he could have made his feelings clear to either, both of you. 

Yoongi pushed him to do something, to say something. Of course he did, what else are best friends for? But even though Namjoon saw want clearly written in Jungkook’s eyes, time and time again, he hesitated. Every time they touched, whether in passing in the office, or when they were working out together, Namjoon was so careful, so careful to not let his hands linger, even though all he wanted to do was feel the planes of Jungkook’s body against his, strong and muscular. Because it was inappropriate, because of Namjoon’s position, because he was Jungkook’s mentor. 

And then you showed up, beautiful, confident. Every time you won a case, you lit up the room, radiant, victorious. And all Namjoon wanted to do was crowd you against the elevator walls as you headed back to the office together. He wanted to know if you were as soft and pliable out of your clothes as you were hard and unyielding in the courtroom. Yoongi had more to say every time you and Namjoon were in his restaurant. But again Namjoon hesitated. 

And he was too late. All he has left is regret and unrelenting visions of both of you, soft and hard, next to him, on top and below him, wanting nothing more than the all-encompassing press of warm skin against skin. 

A loud bang pulls him back to the party. One of the ladies from IT tripped into the glass door beside Namjoon. He reaches out to steady her, his hand on her elbow. She blushes when Namjoon smiles at her, and she laughs it off, embarrassed.

By the time he turns back to glance out to the balcony, Jungkook has you wrapped up in his blazer and you’re both facing out to the city. 

Someone claps him on the shoulder, and he looks back to see Taehyung. “You look like you need something stronger than champagne.” 

A karaoke machine appears sometime before midnight. 

Namjoon has officially joined the ranks of the well and truly sloshed. Taehyung took him to the large pantry behind the kitchen, where Jimin had stashed the good bottles of whisky behind boxes of cereal, and he has gone back several times for a refill.

He doesn’t let himself get this drunk, not usually. He’s so careful, always so fucking careful, about how he’s perceived, about what he’s expected to do, how he’s supposed to act, as an adult, as a manager, as the hotshot lawyer people think he is. But the whisky warms his stomach tonight and blurs the edges of the sharp feelings deep in the pit of his stomach. 

Whoever is screeching at the karaoke machine needs to stop. He feels it in the base of his skull and it’s making the night all the more unpleasant than it already is. He can tell them off, of course he can. He’s the head of Litigation. 

He stumbles his way into the living room to make the horrible noise stop, but the song ends before he can get across the room. Thank god. He’s about to turn back to the kitchen to top up his glass when an angelic voice comes through the speakers. 

It takes a few blinks to focus his eyes. He eventually sees across the room that Jungkook has taken the mic, with Taehyung’s arms slung around his shoulders. 

They’re swaying as Jungkook sings “Leave The Door Open” by Silk Sonic. The rumble of the party quiets down. Someone whoops when he nails a high note. 

Namjoon leans back against the wall for support. It’s not the first time he’s heard Jungkook singing. He hums constantly in the office, but it’s only when he’s several drinks in and past the point of self-consciousness that he lets loose and really sings. His eyes are closed, not needing the lyrics, as he belts the song. 

A little sigh sounds next to him and he turns to see you, also leaning against the wall. Your eyes are soft for the man across the room, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Namjoon looks back at Jungkook, and those feelings he was trying to dam with alcohol come rushing back. 

“You’re lucky, you know?” 

He doesn’t even realize he’s spoken out loud until he hears your voice beside him.

“Lucky?” 

Fuck. He has to say something. Clarify? Does he owe that to you?

“Look at him,” he says, gesturing across the room with his glass. “He’s hot and talented and good at his job. Competent people are hard to come by.” Shut up shut up shut up Namjoon, you’re rambling. “You’re competent too.” 

“Thanks?” 

The song ends and the room cheers for one more. Namjoon keeps his eyes trained across the room as Jungkook queues up another song. He can’t look at you right now. You’re too close.  

"Don't be a manager. It's overrated," he says quietly. "Careers don’t fucking matter. You have that freedom still, to do whatever.” 

The next song starts, “Falling” by Harry Styles. A shiver runs down Namjoon’s spine as Jungkook starts singing. 

“Jesus, just listen to his voice.” 

“Boss, are you okay?” you ask, putting your hand on Namjoon’s arm. 

He closes his eyes at the touch, and at that fucking nickname. He hates it. Hates his role at work, his chronic overthinking. He fucking despises himself for the person he’s crafted himself to be, hiding behind a job title, too focused on what society tells him is success to chase what he wants now. 

He looks at you, finally, to see confusion and concern written all over your face. 

“I’m happy for you two.” He can hear the sadness in his own voice and it’s fucking pathetic. He goes to take a sip of his drink, but it’s empty. Again. “I really am. Truly.” 

You just look at him like you’re about to say something nice and sweet and heartbreaking. Fuck. He’s gotta get out of here. 

In his drunk haze, he doesn’t realize that you don’t follow him to the kitchen. 

Karaoke ends with everyone scream-singing some pop-punk song that Namjoon vaguely recognizes. 

It’s getting close to midnight anyway, so the party roars back into swing, bass thumping, people dancing in the living room in a crush of bodies. 

Namjoon stands against the wall, the empty drink glass in his hand, watching everyone else lose their inhibitions. Even drunk as he is, the vice grip of anxiety keeps him from joining the crowd, from letting loose, and letting his body move to the music. 

He spots you and Jungkook in the crowd, your back against his, eyes closed as you dance to the beat, both faces flushed with alcohol. Namjoon waits, anticipating… something. What exactly, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that this picture is incomplete. He sits on the outside, watching the two of you from afar.

Then it hits him. He’s used to it now, like breathing, like the sun rising and setting, your faces turning towards Namjoon like sunflowers face the sun. Always finding him in a room. How many times has he locked eyes from across the room with Jungkook, with you?

And now, you’re not looking at Namjoon. Neither of you are. 

As the countdown to midnight starts, Jungkook spins you around to face him. You laugh and join in counting with the crowd. 

3…

Namjoon holds his own countdown, waiting for either or both sets of eyes to find him on the edge of the crowd. 

2…

Jungkook’s arms wrap around you. 

1…

Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

Happy New Year!

You’re kissing and laughing, rejoicing in the new year. When Jungkook’s eyes open, they’re trained on your face, and you look back, eyes only for Jungkook. 

Something breaks inside Namjoon. He doesn’t even know who his envy is aimed towards. Does he want to be Jungkook, kissing you, or does he want to be in your place, cupping the back of Jungkook’s head? 

Things never change on New Year’s Eve, except this year, something has. 

He slips out of the party without anyone noticing. The sharp cold brings him back to his senses. Without the party in his head, he can breathe. He can think. 

His breath fogs up in the early morning air. Every inhale brings a cold clarity back to him. 

He knows what he has to do. 

A/N II: This scene was originally meant to take place in the middle of Chapter 5 from reader's POV. The more I worked on it, the more I struggled with it. The whole chapter was dragging and nothing I wrote was working, so I took it out. I think it improved the flow of Ch 5 and helped me finish Ch 5 a bit faster. It's still an important part of the story, and I think it worked better from Namjoon's POV. So before we head to the final couple chapters (!!!!) I really wanted to show how Namjoon's been feeling. (And my brain wouldn't let me work on Ch 6 until I finished this.)

I'm not gonna put a date on the next installment. It's still largely unwritten, but hopefully the momentum from finishing this helps with the draft for Ch 6. Thanks for your patience! Lots of forehead kisses for y'all 💕

Come back to me by RM at the Agust D tour D-Day the Final concert (Aug. 6, 2023)

It's the difference between the belt grab and the 🍆 grab for me.

The way JK grabs into the smallest part of himself and Joon grabs the largest part 🥵😅

[disintegrates]

cr. @hrlykoo on twt