THE FIRST 9 PICS FROM PINTEREST ARE YOUR VIBES

omg nooo your vibes are so cute! and I love there's several members ahhh. I think I got a bunch of summer vibes haha, probably was looking up too many aesthetics for my novel 🤍

tagging: @catharticallysarcastic @mschvs @maguayans @anjaspace @writingbyricochet (and anyone else!)

🦋 THE FIRST 9 PICS FROM PINTEREST ARE YOUR VIBES

what is going on why is half of this jihoon ??!???!???

(thanks for the tag bae @ravenori <3333 )

tagging ; @lustfulpjm @koostarcandy @too-many-fandom @twilightau @fairyofhee & anyone else who wants to do it!!

book lovers

I READ BOOK LOVERS AND-

i'm screaming

♥️ literally the character development and the romance which almost felt like the backstory to me because i was so focused on the familial relationships but ahHHHHH

I FINISHED.

honestly this draft took such a long time and I know the edits will be hard but i'm so excited and elated that it's completed and I know what i want to keep and change and honestly this whole journey itself of battling perfectionism and getting what I want on the page was eye opening.

so even if it might not be the most perfect draft, and I might have to rewrite some major scenes, it's a draft i created with my own hands, and i'm really, really happy that I got to write 'the end.' (though jet-lagged me is dimming the excitement down because i'm so tired lmao)

just need to connect a few scenes and i'll be done with draft 1 of destination seoul AHHHHH

scenic route [kim namjoon]

was I also inspired by photos of namjoon going around? yes. was I also inspired by twenty five twenty one? yes. this man needs to be appreciated more <3 i also need to watch more kdramas if this is the result lmao.

drabble count: 8

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part 1 | part 2

summary: In which you fall in love with Kim Namjoon, only to find out he's more than just the guy you've been rooming with for the past few months. Now, you're determined to cut ties with him, and he's determined to have you fall for him.

chapter tags/warnings: flips between past and present, au where ig namjoon is kinda sorta poor, uhhhh

Past 

You meet him on the train. 

Backpack beside him, he glances at the woman strolling the cart of beverages with ferocious hunger—it doesn’t help that his stomach grumbled on cue when she passes by your station. 

Okay. You don’t mean to be nosy, but the way he crumples the train ticket in his hand draws your attention to him. His shirt, a faded blue, have specks of dirt on it, and his sneakers are worn out. 

Did he get kicked out? No, this is the countryside, and he has the image of a city kid. The clothes of a traveler, too. Carries himself like a firstborn—you know because he didn’t lay his pride down yet and ask for money. Mouth set in grim determination, his face resembled yours when you received your sister’s invitation to her wedding: a person with a plan got wrong. 

Korean, you think, with the mutters under his breath. Mostly berating himself as his leg bounces up and down in anxiety. 

It’s not like he is in a crisis. This is the train heading back to the city, so if he sticks it out for a few more hours and enjoys the scenery, he’ll survive. 

Unless there’s no one waiting for him there. Though you’re in the table across from him, he didn’t glance in your direction once, thank God. Just trailed after the lady as she walked alongside him several times. 

Huh. Did he really get kicked out? 

If someone told you that you’ve never done a good thing in your life ever again… 

“Miss,” you reluctantly wave her over, and point at him. “Can you give him some snacks and drinks? I’ll pay for whatever he eats.” 

Surprised is an understatement of your reaction when he shoots up and waves his hands frantically, stumbling out of his seat into the crammed aisle with the employee. “No, I really don’t need anything—”

“You’ve been staring at her for what feels like the past hour.” 

“Excuse me?” Now his cheeks heat. Curse your bluntness, but you keep going anyways. 

“Unless you want to grab her number.” Shifting, you stare at him dead in the eye. “Was I wrong?” 

It doesn’t even take him a minute to fall to your demands. You close your book and dig into your pockets to take out a wad of cash, too lazy to take out your card, which is inside your purse. 

He orders a water and chugs it like it is the last bottle on Earth. Then he orders some banana bread. 

“I’ll repay you,” he says in between mouthfuls. “It may not be much, since I don’t have much money right now, but I promise I will. You can trust me.”

Famous last words. And he really must be poor. 

Nose crinkling in pity, you nod. Here you thought that he was old enough to know better, but guess not. If he had money, he should be spending it on some clothes and a house, instead of doing whatever he is right now. 

“Can you give me your number? I’ll contact you once I get enough.” 

“Sure,” you reply, opening your book once again. “When the train stops. Too exhausted to grab my pen right now.”

“I have one!” He volunteers, dashing across the aisle and nearly tripping once again. On air. Though no one offers him a seat across from you, the mysterious stranger slides in anyways. “What book are you reading?” 

You almost bite back the, “Why do you have a pen but not money?” remark, instead opting for, “Just a fantasy book.” 

“Six…” 

“Give me your hand.” The book slams shut once again, and your eyebrows knit together. God help you, you bought this train ticket which is past your budget in order to escape from annoying beings, only to get tangled with another one. 

Snatching his wrist and taking off the cap of the marker—you have no idea why he thinks this is a pen, but it must be some language barrier you were unfamiliar with—you scribble a fake number on his arm. 

“This is me,” you grunt. The stranger stares at it, and when you attempt to pull away, his fingers latch onto yours. 

They’re slightly calloused—not like yours, which is covered in old paper cuts and filled with memories of you crouching down and getting dirty for money. They’re long and slender, too, practically engulfing yours. 

You don’t like the feeling that arises when he rubs a thumb over your palm. Jealously? Inferiority? 

Well, whatever it is, you shoot him a glare and flip to a random page, covering your face with the book. You don’t know whether the sound that comes out from him is one of amusement or frustration, but the booth creaks across from you. 

“My name’s Namjoon, he says. 

The train slightly rattles, but other than that, the rhythmic clunking of its wheels on the rails return when he goes to sit back down. 

And until the vehicle halts, you can’t help but sneak peeks of him as he falls into a slumber. Arms crossed, head against the window, legs stretched out, he retreats into his own world.

What you should’ve done is not get entangled with him in the first place. 

Present

“You’re shitting me.” Kaia abruptly falls on her rear, staring at you with wide eyes. You hum, plucking another thorn off her rose. The weather is nice today, the skies clear and sun hidden by the clouds—did you really have to do this inside? 

Though, the flowers are better company than your friend here, nagging you. There are bundles of roses in front of you, but you’re the only one working. Yeah, she has her hands on her knees, leaning in closer with interest. 

“Is this my flower store or yours?” 

“You’re saying the part-time hire that I took in for a few months on your request? Joonie? Our Joonie? He’s actually not poor?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” You retort. 

“The kid that barely had a week’s worth of clothing? That one?” 

Snip. You move onto the next flower. He has plenty of clothes now, so it’s not like you need to worry anymore. 

“The one that ate like a pig and he’s been starving for a whole good year or so? The one that scrapbooked the whole town here and went around taking photos?”

You sigh.

“The one that you kissed?”

“He kissed me,” you snap. Stop when you see the grin on her face growing. “And stop talking about him. He returned to his world, like I returned to mine. It’s better this way.”

“Is this a firstborn disease, I wonder? Pretending that everything’s fine?”

“If you’re going to act like I’m not here, I’m leaving.” 

Kaia claps when you move to stand up. “I meant to say that he’s so, so forgettable and we shouldn’t talk about him anymore. Ever. Since none of us remember him.”

A smile curls up your lips, and you throw the now thornless rose at her. “Sorry for making you all uncomfortable. I know you guys loved him.” 

“Well, that’s part of his charm, isn’t it?” 

Yeah. It is. 

But just because someone is charming, doesn’t mean he’s hard to erase. 

Past 

“You what? Did you follow me?” 

“To follow someone is to appear to them directly. And I didn’t even know you’d be here.” He—Namjoon—scratches the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “Though I suppose I should apologize, since I still don’t have the money to pay you back. Or I do, but I think I need to use it to get some food, a place to stay, and a job.” 

“You’re not going to find it here.” You motion to the bench, where your things are. Here you are wanting some quiet time away from the grandparents who wanted to you to finish their chores for them. As endearing as they can be, you know that they can be just as manipulating, too. Just cast the “my back really hurts and I’ll give you an endless supply of side dishes” glance with the eyes, and you’re under their spell. 

“I heard there was a small town around here…”

“Not a place to stay,” you tell him. “Residents only, since we don’t often have visitors.”

“Why? Because it’s so far away?” He inches closer to the railing. Where you are looks over the city—is half an hour away from it, actually, so not too far out. The area is surrounded by hills and an endless amount of the color green. You peer over with him, catching sight of the ocean far below and more fields. 

“Are you sure you’re not following me? What are you doing here, anyways?” Namjoon smiles, and dimples appear, a feature you didn’t notice last time. 

“I live in the town you’re talking about.” You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. At least he looks freshened up this time, in a better shirt—still blue—and much cleaner shoes. Even his hair isn’t greasy, which is a nice bonus and in for the grandparents to adore him. “Come on. I’ll take you there.” 

“Seriously? That’d be awesome.” He follows. God. How gullible. “Can you get me a job, too?”

“That’s not for me to interfere with. Ask around, and maybe you’ll get one.”

“And, uh…” 

“And what?” You spin on your heel—maybe a little too quickly. Your knee bends, and your arms fly out.

Reaching Namjoon’s. 

He hoists you up easily, and you clear your throat. He’s tall. Uh. Very tall, hovering over you. And not all that useless. He does have some muscles, it seems. Actually, he’s like some doberman. 

Other than that, your mind is blank. But the subject needs to be changed desperately. 

Is it too late to jump off the railing? Embrace the waters below? 

His dimples make a return, and he tilts his head down. “I was going to ask if I can find a place to stay, but maybe it’s a little to early for that.” 

That’s it. You gape at him, wondering if he can take a hit in the head. By your fist.

Namjoon waves to the right—the direction you’re going in. “After you.” 

Past

“Is there anything I should know about you?” You press an index finger to his chest, ignoring how he doesn’t budge. “Did you get here because you’re charged with murder? Arson? Something along those lines?”

Namjoon holds his hands up. “I promise I’m a responsible citizen, only needing a temporary place to stay.” 

He isn’t lying. At least, you don’t think he’s the type to. But he is hiding something.

Seeing as it isn’t life threatening, though, you take him up the cobblestone path, pointing to the yellow building with the rusty sign. Most of the buildings here need a serious paint job, but none of you ever get to it, thinking it adds its own unique quality to the area. 

Plus, as long as the inside is clean, none of you see the issue why an area should be judged for its exterior. 

“Halmuni!” You shout when you walk into the restaurant with Namjoon. It’s a little ironic, how she named it, You Can Eat Anything, but gives the locals what she wants to make for the day. 

Well, at least the side dishes are consistent. And anything she makes tastes amazing, not to mention you all love her to say otherwise. 

Kaia is there, one leg crossed over another, soju bottle in front of her. Her head resting on the palm of her hand, she groans when you enter. 

“Halmuni,” she whines. “Kick her out. She’s going to make me go back to work.”

“As you should,” the elder scolds back, flicking her forehead and leaning on the counter. “You’re the owner. What are you doing playing hooky in another person’s store?” 

Hooky. You snort.

“There aren’t any customers.” Your friend mutters under her breath, and takes another sip of alcohol. 

“And you.” The woman’s finger turns to focus on you. “Isn’t she paying you? Why are you off with some man having a literal hook-up?”

Kaia stares at Namjoon, who, behind you, bows to Halmuni. 

“There’s no way that’s her one night stand. Or boyfriend. It’s probably some traveler she picked up on the side of the road.” 

The comment is insulting and comforting at the same time. 

“She’s right,” you murmur. “This is Namjoon. He needs a place to stay and work. I was planning to take him to yours after feeding him, but I guess you can assess him now.” You shove the kid forward. 

“Ya.” Halmuni declares. “Don’t push him around like that.” 

Placing her hands on her hips, she stares him down. “I’m selling kimchi-jigae today. Take it or leave it.”

“I, ah, I’ll eat it well,” he stumbles out, wiping his hands on his shorts.

“Say that when it’s served to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Come here, come here,” Kaia interjects, waving him forward, and motioning to the seat in front of her. “Sit.” 

You almost feel bad that you’re all treating him harshly. Almost, because he’ll adapt. You see the determination in his eyes, the way he takes in a deep breath before going forward.

If he’s determined to stay and make it happen, you’ll let him. And if he can deal with the crass way everyone speaks here, he’ll be accepted in a community that’ll have his back—one that’ll even bury a body for him. 

You didn’t come here on awful terms like Namjoon did—just for escape a few years back. But you’re glad, because this is your home now. 

“Hello,” he bows again. “Kim Namjoon. I’m, uh, 24.” 

“Out of college, huh? Or…” 

“Yes. Seoul University. In business.” 

“Mhm. Top of the class?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit.” This causes her to put the bottle down. “Really? So you’re actually smart? I thought most people coasted by once they got into college.”

“That’s just you,” you remark, smirking. When she sticks her tongue out, you laugh and make your way around the counter to start loading some kimchi onto a plate. And some radish, along with seasoned spinach, and some other side dishes. 

“I, ah. Academics are important.” 

“Not here.” Kaia tilts her head to the side. “How’s your sense of fashion? Or interior design. This place is tacky, don’t you think? Too yellow. It’s kind of hideous. I feel like I’m looking at a golden pig’s skin.”

This time, you muffle your laughter so that Halmuni can’t hear your agreement with her comment. Like the outside, the inside is yellow, too, and the wallpaper draws attention more than the wooden tables and silver counter does. Not to mention, the paper slammed on the middle of the wall containing an indiscernible scribble of the menu of the day. 

It adds character, though. 

“Is that… bad?” Namjoon resembles a fish out of water. Quite literally. 

She blinks. “So you need glasses. That’s okay. Can you do simple tasks like putting bouquets together and cutting thorns off roses? Working with me means more than dealing with flowers. You’ll probably be living mostly in restaurants, helping the grandpas and grandmas around here.”

“I can do that.” His shoulders sag in relief. 

“And you can take photos? I have—”

“Oh, do your own social media stuff.” You bring the side dishes down harder than you expect, but appear unfazed nonetheless. 

“Fine.” Kaia pouts. “You’re hired. I can’t pay much, but I’m a fair boss. And as for sleeping arrangements.” She points to you. “She has two rooms. Take up her offer on that.”

Present

It’s the deep voice calling your name, heard like a whisper in the wind, that makes you freeze. Turn. 

“So it is you,” he murmurs, casting his eyes down to the concrete road. With the way he’s behind you, it reminds you of the time he followed you up a different path. He must be thinking the same, with the way his shoes—clean, untouched sneakers—kick a rock. Namjoon’s hands are in his pockets, and the way he carries himself doesn’t match the sleek black and white suit he has on. 

Frankly, seeing him like this is unbearable.

Thank God this is Seoul—vast enough so that you don’t have to run into him again. Especially since you’re moving here now that you got a new job as an editor. 

“So you’re going to leave without saying anything?” Hurt is laced into his voice. “You won’t let me explain, after everything we’ve been together?” 

“I’ve been through a lot with Kim Namjoon, the guy I met in the train,” you say. “Not Kim Namjoon, the businessman.”

And like you described, the businessman is ruthless at giving you heartbreak. It’s stupid, why you decided to go the path that will pass by Kim Tech Industries—you were practically asking for punishment. And yet, here he is, too, leaning against the entrance of the building, like he’s been waiting for you this whole time. 

“You look beautiful,” the words fall out of his lips like he’s said it a thousand times, because he has. Only this time, he can’t accompany the words by caressing your cheek, or by placing his hands in yours. “Is the restaurant doing okay? What about the paint? Has it faded yet? Did some rascal put his foot on the new color?” 

“Don’t—” Your facade cracks. “Don’t ask me about these things, Namjoon. I can’t answer them.” 

“Why can’t they be the same person? Why can’t—I told you that I was there for a reason, right? And I told you I had to go.”

Like you could ever forget the moment. It felt like waking up from a nightmare, and realize that you’ve twisted all the bad into the good. 

“Is it that hard for you to look at me? Talk to me? Think about me?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, and watch his face crumple. It takes one look at his face to now know he belongs in a vastly different world. One you don’t have control over. 

He’s the man who doesn’t even has a 9-5, because he’s that rich. A bachelor, combined with the other six he hangs out with. 

You should’ve read the news about his mysterious disappearance. Kaia—the social media fanatic—should have. 

Except you all missed it. And now, you had to step on your own heart. 

“What if—”

“There is not ‘what if’s’ anymore. Only now.”

You deliver the final blow. To you and him. 

“I’ll be going… Namjoon ssi.” 

Present

“Come on, Halmuni. You can’t act like they weren’t in love. They were practically all over each other, it was disgusting to watch.” 

Halmuni sighs. “Yes, but I’m not tactless enough to say that in front of someone who’s grieving.” 

“I am over him,” you mumble, and set the chicken skewers down. “But you talking about him makes my appetite disappear.” 

“Namjoon. What if I decided to go abroad? To America?”

“Then I would follow you in a heartbeat.”

“Namjoon. What if…”

“Again with this?” 

“Yes. What if I messed up? Like I did something really bad?”

“Like, cheat on me?”

“No, stupid. Like I said hurtful things but I didn’t mean it. You know how I can run my mouth sometimes. What if I said something without meaning it?”

“Then I would forgive you in a heartbeat, too.”

“Namjoon. What if I stopped loving you?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“… Whether you stop loving me or not, that won’t change my love for you.”

Every word with him, every ‘what if,’ haunts you. But what still lingers are the words he said when you turned to leave: “I still love you. And if your stubborn ass chooses to pretend like you don’t love me, my stubborn ass will spend the rest of my life making sure you actually fall in love with me. Properly.” 

taglist: @decamilue @theblueslytherin @tatyhend @midnightsora @cupcakesxdomjoon @likeshatteredrainbowglass @scuzmunkie @xjiminsthighsx @dreadity @lovelytaes-blog @noooodlllleeee @ggukkieland @namjoonshug @angelarin @jaiuneamesolitaiire @acsycharm @hollyweird0 @jiminie-08

marriage of inconvenience [part one]

drabble count: 7

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summary: You wake up next to campus heartthrob Min Yoongi, and find out you're married to him. Only- the whole night before is hazy, and you swear he doesn't remember you.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

chapter tags/warnings: marriage, panic, just some cute fluff here and hilarious disasters

You decide that when you wake up you hate the word ‘so.’ It’s a transition, and an abrupt one, too. And it’s so vague. Not as nice as however which indicates a contrast, but also not as smooth as but or and.

Because ‘so’ means that something happened.

In this case, you’ll probably call up your friend and say: “So, I married this guy I met overnight and now I have a giant diamond ring on my finger meaning that he’s probably rich?”

Yeah, it’s that kind of situation. Then you’ll follow it up smoothly by going: “And I checked his phone and someone’s calling him Min Yoongi—as in campus heartthrob, aka campus fuckboy Min Yoongi?” 

And possibly, you’ll sob after that. God, adulting is so hard. Whoever told you that you now had to reap the consequences of your actions—well, you wanted to punch them in this moment. In the haze of your headache and the sunlight gauging your eyes out, though, you can’t remember who said those unnecessary words. 

On the bright side, you don’t feel sore. Which means that the two of you had enough sense not to fuck. 

Yeah, it’s not like the two of you skipped several lines already, heading straight to the finish line of marriage. Oh, you know, like a first date, second date, confessing to each other, and proposing—somehow all done overnight. 

This is definitely his room, though. The vast space contains a microphone, MIDI keyboard, and a sound monitor, which explains his love for composing, and how he manages to stay holed up in his apartment all day. With all this equipment, it’s impossible not to be a homebody. 

You peer over at the bed next to you, where he’s laying flat on his stomach, oblivious to what’s going on. When you woke up, his arm was thrown over your stomach, legs tangled with yours. 

The events of last night are hazy in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle you still didn’t piece together. You still don’t know how you got to his apartment, when the two of you were both drunk and most likely not even able to walk. Though… you do recall the soft smiles aimed at you. They made your heart flutter, and your cheeks flush, especially knowing that the rare expression was pointed at you. But that isn’t a good enough reason to stay married to this man. 

Besides, he probably aimed it at thousands of other girls, and that fact makes you get out of the bed a little faster. You hypothesize that he won’t remember. If he does, there’s also no doubt that he’ll ask you to break it off.

It’ll bruise your ego, but at least you’re expecting it. 

Stumbling over to his closet, you dig through his pile of hoodies, gnawing on your lower lip. There’s an assortment of colors—blues, grays, blacks, most of them a darker shade. Still, there has to be one that he wears the least and doesn’t mind you borrowing, right?  

A memory flashes across your vision. One where the two of you stumbled into a store that sold rings, a chauffeur or secretary or chaperone lingering in the back. Why they followed him without question, you couldn’t understand. Logically, with the giant diamond on your finger, people would think you’re a gold digger. Though you do remember the frustration clearly on their faces, and Yoongi’s don’t fuck with me expression. Not to mention the stuttering of your heart when he slid the ring on your finger and called you his wife in that low murmur. And when he lifted his hand and kissed your ring finger, peering up at you from his lashes.

Heat rises up your cheeks, and you slip on the light blue navy in the bottom of the pile, tugging up your sweatpants and closing the door shut behind you.

You’ve never gotten out of an apartment faster. 

“And where were you?” Your best friend, Nara, puts her hands up on her hips when she sees you enter the apartment the two of you share. Grants are a blessing, and with the two of you receiving financial aid grants, the leftover money from working went towards this little home. “The amount of times I called you last night— hold on, is that Min Yoongi’s hoodie?”

You freeze in your tracks, hair resembling a hair’s net and eyes widening in alarm. “No.”

“No,” Nara repeats, the disbelief evident in her face and the arch of her brows. Unlike you, she’s a neat freak, and needs to feel sophisticated in the morning. That means she brushes her teeth as soon as she wakes up, combs her hair, and puts on an outfit before breakfast. With how meticulous she is, escaping from her when she gets tunnel vision on a certain topic is impossible. “So you’re telling me you went and stitched his name on that hoodie overnight or something?”

“What?” The word slips out of your mouth, and you tug on the fabric to see what it says on the back. You mindlessly slipped it on earlier, thinking about the color. Not the name. Who puts their names on their hoodies? That seems like another level of narcissism. 

“That’s his favorite hoodie, too. Just what did you do last night.” 

She catches the light reflecting off a certain finger. 

Sees the twelve carat diamond ring. 

And screams.

“I can explain!” 

“Don’t tell me you stole that! The Min family will have us in jail within seconds!”

“Is that really how you think of me? You’re the one who left me in the baseball house drunk!”

“You weren’t drunk when I left you!” Nara groans. “When I said I’d help you bury a body, I’ll let you know that I didn’t mean it literally. God, how expensive is that? Is that his family ring? It better not be, I’ve heard that one’s worth more than gold. It’s literally the ring.”

“You can’t assume that I married Min Yoongi,” you mutter.

“Simple deduction.” She lifts a finger. “You got drunk and come home with his hoodie, thank God it’s not his jersey though.” Another finger. “Since your hair is matted and you’re still wearing the same sweatpants as yesterday—who wears that to a party, anyways? I can’t believe I let you enter that house with such questionable fashion sense—I assume you spent the night in his house or with him, meaning you married him. And it’s literally impossible to get married overnight if you’re not in Vegas, which you’re not, unless you’re super rich. Hence, Min Yoongi.” 

With a sigh, you topple over the couch, drawing your knees to your chest. “Yes, I married Min Yoongi. No, I don’t remember anything. All that I can recall perfectly is you leaving with Jin and us at the ring shop. The events in between those are all hazy.”

“Jin introduced you to, but I think you were kind of tipsy then. Except… you were ranting about your five-paged biology essay and telling me every bullet point without even slurring, so I figured you were sober.” 

“A thesis which I still didn’t finish,” you grumble. “I… I think I was serving drinks all night.” Someone—some other baseball player, and a haughty one, too, asked you for a drink. And like an idiot, after pouring the beer for him willingly, you stood by the keg for the rest of the night. Until Yoongi came by and called it off, demanding for his players to get their own beer. 

Guess being captain of the baseball team has its perks. Ever since the baseball seven—campus called them practically bulletproof—came to this university, they reached obvious status. The seven players are no doubt going somewhere in the world, and even you, along with a hoard of baseball bunnies, know that. 

Sana bursts into laughter. “That sounds like you. So you married him because he saved you?”

“Ha ha. I’m waiting for it to cut it off.”

“Good luck with that,” she snorts. “He may be a player, but he’s traditional. Once he marries someone, I’m pretty sure he has no thoughts on going back.” 

taglist: @decamilue @theblueslytherin @tatyhend @tinyoonsblog @midnightsora @cupcakesxdomjoon @likeshatteredrainbowglass @scuzmunkie @kookiwu @xjiminsthighsx @dreadity @lovelytaes-blog @noooodlllleeee @ggukkieland @namjoonshug @angelarin @jaiuneamesolitaiire @acsycharm @hollyweird0 @yourtmblrgirlfriend @hesmyphenominiall @hadhafang @jiminie-08