#3 row suv

[crainteammazda]

Looking for a three-row SUV that’s perfect for everything from checking off your routine to-do list to your next big family road trip? Then look no further than the 2022 Mazda CX-9. Click on our blog to learn more about the 2022 Mazda CX-9.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

What a difference 40 years makes juxtaposition of Renault Espace, 1983 & Renault Espace, 2023. The 6th generation of Renault's multi-seat Espace has been revealed. Like the 5th generation model it is an SUV/crossover rather than a monobox MPV as were the first 4 generations. It still seats 7 in three rows (there's also a 5-seat version). The Espace is a long wheelbase version of the Austral and is based on the Renault–Nissan CMF-CD platform

[kingsofeverything]

…

[savageonwheels]

2023 Lexus GX 460

It looks old school, and is in several ways. But the Lexus GX 460 is a fun drive, and not as costly as some big SUVs, considering its standard equipment.

Big-nosed, 3-row SUV feels old school, but remains a fun drive … I’m beginning to feel a smidge like Little Red Riding Hood when it comes to new car and truck designs. My, what big grilles you have! Lexus’ full-size SUV, the GX 460 was one of the first to glom onto the giant schnoz styling and it doesn’t get any more handsome with age. Some folks like that big honker though as Lexus sells more…

[queer4cars]

2023 Honda Pilot

We had two opportunities to spend time in the Newly Redesigned Honda Pilot in 2023 Check them out: Check out our review on Newsbreak of the 2023 Honda Pilot Trail Sport The Honda Pilot Trail Sport Honda Pilot Upscale Model We have moved our blog posts over to Newsbreak. Please follow us over there, and make sure you subscribe for all the latest auto and truck reviews.

[srjinfoauto]

Watch "BEST 3-row SUVs To buy in (2023) Toyota HIGHLANDER vs 2023 honda PILOT vs mazda CX-9" on YouTube

2023 best 3 row suvs to buying

The 2023 Honda Pilot is all-new, bringing in the fourth generation of this three-row midsize SUV. The 2023 Toyota Highlander continues to be a top choice in this class, entering its fourth year in the current generation. The Highlander might have the advantage of familiarity and Toyota reliability, but the Pilot has several tricks up its sleeve. Which three-row midsize SUV is the better option for your family?

#srjinfoauto #honda #toyota #mazda

@srjinfoauto

@toyota4x4

@honda

@mazdaofsouthcharlotte

2023 Honda Pilot2023 Toyota HighlanderPrice Range$39,000-$51,000 (est.)$36,420-$49075Engine Options3.5-liter V62.4-liter turbocharged 4-cylinderHorsepower 285 horsepower265 horsepowerTorque262 lb-ft310 lb-ftTransmission10-speed automatic8-speed automaticMPG RatingTBA22/29 mpg FWD, 21/28 mpg AWD

[togrowoldinv]

Time

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When you visit the Bartons with your family, you and Natasha spend some quality time reconnecting

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, fingering (R receiving), oral (N and R receiving), being needy, some fluff too

Note: Enjoy this hehe

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Are we there yet?” Your youngest daughter asks from the backseat of the car.

You’ve been driving for hours to reach the Barton farm. Natasha wants to visit while the kids are on spring break.

“The answer is still no, sweetheart,” Natasha answers patiently.

“We’ll tell you when we get there, Taylor,” Ali, your oldest, jumps in. She’s annoyed by the constant question and her tone doesn’t hide that.

“Be nice,” you remind her.

“Yeah be nice, Al,” your oldest son says. The two oldest kids start arguing, but Nat stops it quickly.

“Hey, none of that,” she says, expertly parenting. “This is a family trip. We will be kind to each other and we will have fun. Understood?”

A few nods follow.

“Understood?” Nat repeats.

That gets her the answers she was waiting for. A chorus of yes ma’am’s resound from the backseat. You turn up the radio and try to make the last hour of the trip enjoyable.

When you pull in the driveway, you look back at Taylor.

“Ask the question again, baby,” you say.

“Are we there yet?”

“We are here,” you reply. “Come on let’s go have some fun.”

You all unload from the car. Nat refused to be a minivan family, so you settled for a three row suv. The Bartons come outside to help.

“Hi Nat,” Laura greets your wife. She hugs her tight. There’s only a handful of people in the world that Natasha trusts as much as she does Laura and Clint.

“And hi y/n,” she greets you as well.

You’re corralling the babies at the moment and can’t hug her, but the warm smile on her face feels like a hug.

“Go see Auntie Laura,” you say to Belle and Taylor, the two littlest girls.

The girls run to her and hug her tight. Ali is catching up with Lila while Ivan, Jack, and Cooper reconnect.

“Well, I guess it’s just us to unload,” Nat comments. She walks around to meet you at the back of the car.

“What’s new?” You joke.

“Hey, while we have a second alone,” Nat begins. She presses you against the back of the car, running her hands over your shoulders and arms down to your hands. “Thank you for coming. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Natasha,” you say, feeling your face flush from how close she is. You can smell her perfume and her fresh hair.

She’s so close to you that it hurts. You want to devour her.

“I’ll show you later just how much I love you, okay?” Her voice is low, sexy as it could be.

Nat leans in and steals a quick but deep kiss, leaving you wanting more.

You pout when she pulls away, but she just laughs. You’re too easy.

Later that day, Clint drives everyone out to the field where he’s got a new pig pin. The kids love chasing the pigs around and playing with them.

Natasha shares a look with you about an hour into the fun that tells you she wants to get back to the house and have her own type of fun with you.

“Clint, we’re going to head back,” she tells him.

“But Mama we’re having fun!” Belle says.

“They can stay out here with us. I know you two are exhausted from the drive in,” Laura says. She winks at you. Maybe you weren’t so slick earlier behind the car.

“Thanks Laur,” Natasha says. “Be good, babies.”

You both kiss each kid before you start walking back to the house with Natasha. You’re hand in hand as you walk through the field. You love seeing Nat like this. So free. So happy.

Your smile must reveal that to her. She stops and turns to you.

“What is it?” Nat asks.

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me differently,” she replies.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say. “And you’re even more beautiful out here.”

Natasha kisses you softly. She is so in love.

“We better get back to the house before I take you right here in this field,” Nat says.

“What would be so wrong with that?” You say, surprised by your own boldness.

“Oh,” Nat remarks. “Did my wife, my sweet, sweet, innocent wife just say that she wants me to fuck her right here outside where anyone could see us?”

You know she can see the way she’s making you feel. An absolute puddle for her.

“Come on,” Nat says, grabbing your hand again and pulling towards the house again.

By the time you make it to the porch, you’re tripping over each other as you try to make out while walking.

“Upstairs now,” Nat says.

You move as fast you can into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Natasha pulls you to her and turns you to back you into the bed. You fall back a little harshly, but Natasha’s lips connecting with yours distracts you from the slight pain.

“Fuck,” you moan into her mouth.

Nat’s strong hands pull your shirt over your head. You barely have time to process it before you’re entirely naked underneath her.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Nat asks.

“Yes,” you say. She takes a nipple in her mouth while her fingers slip between your legs. “Fuck.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” Natasha says.

Her fingers enter you quickly. She swallows your moan with her kiss. You want her to be as undressed as you are. You reach for her shirt hem, but she pushes your hand away.

“Just you right now,” Natasha says. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you say.

Her fingers continue to pump in and out of you at a fast pace. You can feel yourself slipping into a blissful state.

“Natasha,” you mumble. It’s all you can say right now.

“I love you,” Natasha says. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

You let yourself come and come hard for your wife. It’s the best sex you’ve had in months, maybe years.

“That’s right, baby. You’re so good,” Nat says as she works you down. “So good for me.”

Natasha drops a kiss to your forehead and lies beside you. You come back to reality at the feeling of her hand circling yours.

“God, I have missed that,” you say.

Nat chuckles. She has too.

“Shower with me?” She asks.

“Gladly,” you agree.

Nat helps you out of bed and essentially carries you to the bathroom. You start the shower.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to her clothes. You want to be the one to take them off.

“Please,” Nat says.

You lift her shirt over her head. It never ceases to amaze you how beautiful she is. You unclasp her bra and kiss her shoulder softly.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper, placing your head in the crook of her neck.

You move your hands down her abs and to her waist. Slipping your hands down the jeans she’s wearing, you find her dripping wet for you.

“Getting me off really turns you on, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” You ask her.

“Mhm,” she says. “But I’m in control here.”

Nat takes a step back and pulls her own pants down. She takes your hand and leads you into the shower.

“Why deny yourself, Nat? You know I’d kneel for you right here and now.” You ask her.

Natasha smirks. This was exactly her plan. To have you begging to make her feel good.

“Then kneel,” Natasha says after a long pause. She presses on your shoulders just enough to make you feel the pressure.

Grinning, you drop to your knees. You can’t even remember the last time you were in this position with her. God, you love farm Natasha.

“Right there, detka,” she says. “Yes.”

You hum in pleasure at the taste of her. You’re the luckiest person in the world to be here with her like this.

“Yes! Fuck, y/n, yes!” Natasha groans out. You can’t see her but you know she’s biting her lip. She’s close. It doesn’t take much longer for Natasha to be trembling at the feeling of your mouth all over her.

“I’m coming,” Nat says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You help her ride her high and lick her until she’s pushing you away. You stand back up and she kisses you immediately.

Her tongue mingles with yours. The taste of her orgasm on your tongue turns her on even more.

“How long do we have?” She asks you.

“Not long I’d bet,” you say. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Nat says.

She pushes you to the edge of the shower and you sit down, spreading your legs for her.

“All for me,” Natasha says. “Look at this.”

“All for you, Nat. Only you,” you reply.

She buries her face between your legs. You can’t help but lift your hips up at the feeling. Natasha holds your hips and helps you move them. Soon enough, you’re riding her face.

“Natasha,” you say over and over like it’s a prayer. “Natasha!”

You hold her head with one hand and keep yourself steady with the other. She eats you out like it’s the only place in the world she wants to be.

You come hard against her tongue. Nat moans successfully and pulls away to let you come down.

She grins at your blissed out face. She loves making you feel so good.

“I love you,” she says softly. It’s a sharp contrast to what you were just doing. “I hope you know how much I love you.”

“I do, baby,” you say, caressing her cheek. “I love you exactly the same.”

You kiss each other gently. Nat helps you stand back up and you actually shower. The water isn’t hot anymore, so you hurry up.

Once you get out, you get dressed and go downstairs. The family is just getting back from being outside. Perfect timing.

“Enjoy your alone time?” Laura asks.

“We sure did,” Natasha replies. She wraps an arm around your waist. You share a soft smile.

For the rest of the trip, you and Natasha soak up every moment with each other and with your family. It’s absolutely an amazing week.

[ddejavvu]

Hi Mei!

Let me just say you’ve probably seen me liking literally every piece of fluff you’ve ever posted with this man’s name on it in the last few days and I’m obsessed

I might have already missed mvm but otherwise could I ask to see dbf!hotch showing up for you when the actual family in question doesn’t? Like reader is really really excited for an event/milestone and only hotchy knows how much you care and shows up?

Definitely not filling a sick little void in my own life? no?! I would never…. 🙇🏼

ohhhh to be supported by soft dbf!hotch <3

--

The laces of your shoes are twisted, and you're on minute three of trying to straighten them out. They're flat ones, thin, so they flip around and fold themselves this way and that when you loosen them. They look messy when tightened, and you've got nowhere to be anyways, so you sit on the back steps of your dance studio's steps and untwist them.

Your fingernails are already marred from the zipper on the back of your costume dress. Paying hundreds of dollars for an ugly outfit you only wore once on stage for an hour was not worth it, and your nails are starting to break even more against the tightly bound shoes on your feet.

You hear chatter all around, parents congratulating their kids, friends laughing with each other, but your world is silent. It's just the scrape of your fingernails against your laces, and your near-silent breathing.

You hear the scrape of rubber against rock, then a pair of black dress shoes steps into your field of vision.

You look up at whoever's standing by the stairs, ready to dart out of their way, but it's-

"Aaron!" You gush, rocketing to your feet to ram into him in a hug that nearly topples him over, "You're here!"

"I'm here," He laughs, loud and long and deep from his chest, warmth gushing out of the sound and into your chest as he squeezes you tight, "You were amazing!"

"I don't understand," You breathe, pulling back to look at him dazedly, "I didn't invite you. I mean-!" You struggle to right yourself, and his face flushes red as he tries holding in a laugh, eyes scrunched at the edges, "I mean, like, I never gave you a ticket, I- I didn't think you'd want to come. So how did you get in?"

"This is really helpful," He flashes a corner of the black leather case that you know his FBI badge is in, and your heart soars.

"Thank you for coming," You go in for another hug, spotting a group of people behind him, lingering with smiles on their faces and flowers in their hands, "Uh...?"

"My team," He keeps a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to them, where you're bombarded with bouquets, and a hug from a rather bubbly blonde, "I treated everyone to a night off tonight so that we could come and see you perform."

You're hit with a wave of emotion you're not sure you'll ever be able to properly express, probably not without getting a little too in-depth about feelings you'd rather not bring up. You choose instead to revel in the giddiness that comes from Aaron's presence, his team's sweet smiles, and his hand on your back, leading you to a black SUV where you're treated to the passenger's seat.

It means that three grown men have to sit in the middle row, broad shoulders squished against neutral, then skinny ones.

"I used to dance, too," A voice pipes up from the third row, a dark-haired woman in pretty nude lipstick, "But I got in trouble for kicking a kid in the shins, and they threw me out."

You giggle at the image, and the smile she shoots you through the rear-view mirror only makes you more giddy.

"I don't find that too hard to believe," Aaron glances back at her, a similar smile on his face that his team seems just as enamored by as you are, "Why did you kick him?"

"He made fun of my friend," She shrugs, "'Said she looked like a baby deer."

"Because of her legs?" The broad-shouldered man peers back at her, and at her nod of approval, scrunches his face into a grimace, "Man, that's harsh."

"I mean, she did look like a baby deer." The woman confirms, and a slim blonde next to her snorts, "But no one's allowed to say it, you know?"

"Don't kick anyone in the shins," Aaron's hand shoots out to brace on your knee, squeezing softly as he uses a red light to glance over at you warningly, "At your age I think it would be considered assault, and while I would rescue you from prison, I'd prefer not to."

"Don't listen to him, Y/N. Kick mean boys in the shins," The woman pipes up from the back, pretty dark eyes focused on you, "I'll come bail you out, and we can go out for ice cream on the way home from jail."

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 2 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon x f!Reader

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?

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment and medical industries; MC is diagnosed with asthma and experiences symptoms; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate first touch & subsequent skinship; partial disrobing for medical purposes; medical setting and minor treatments; some social awkwardness; talk of food, eating, and alcohol consumption in the context of a soulmate AU

Author's Note: Chapter 2 is here! I tried my best to write Namjoon's response under the circumstances, but honestly I don't know how well it was executed. Let me know what you think in the comments/asks! I'm super open to constructive criticism and feedback. Also, I did my best with the Korean phrases and medical jargon. If anyone has more extensive knowledge on those subjects and wants to fact-check, please let me know!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.”

~ Pablo Neruda

Chapter 2: Touching Me, Touching You

    When you touched down at Incheon International Airport, you and Matt were greeted by a rather unnecessarily large party of Hybe personnel in black plainclothes wearing masks who snatched up your baggage and ushered you into the first of a small fleet of black SUV's. The member of the legal advisory team who had visited you in the states, Choi Kang Dae, was riding shotgun and speaking into a cell phone that had not left his ear since departing the baggage claim. In the row behind you was another man you assumed to be a translator, given his fluency in English, but who was currently chopping it up with Matt in Korean, and beside him a large, serious, silent man whose eyes kept traveling to you every now and again. You assumed that meant that the rest of the ensemble filling the vehicles behind you were security, which somehow made you feel less rather than more at ease.

The further you advanced in traffic through the busy streets of Seoul, the more anxious you became. A thousand questions began to flood your brain as your heart began to hammer in your chest. If all these people had come to meet you, were you headed to the hospital now? Weren't you supposed stop at your accommodations first? If you didn't, would you even have a chance to shower a day's worth of airport off before meeting your soulmate? Were you about to bond right now? Would people be watching? Would it hurt? Why hadn't you ever thought of these things before? You felt a familiar tightness in your chest and pulled out your inhaler. An asthma attack right now? They always seemed to strike at the most inopportune times.

Matt was suddenly turning to you.

    "Hey, you okay?" he asked, looking at the inhaler you were shaking for a second puff.

You slowly exhaled and nodded.

    "I'm fine. But where are we going right now, can you ask them?"

The translator asked the Kang Dae something in Korean, and after he responded, the other man turned to you.

    "We're going to the hospital. Namjoon-ssi had a seizure last night due to a prolonged high-grade fever, so we are trying to act as quickly as possible to avoid further complications."

Matt turned to the translator.

    "This should have been the first thing we heard when we stepped off that plane. I'm not trying to play hardball here, but we're going to have to be communicated with about every step of this process so we can decide how we're going to respond. This was in the contract, communication and a chance to speak with me before she makes any step in this process..."

Matt slipped in and out of English as the attorney apologetically reassured him through the translator of their full intent to follow the contractual specifications. You felt sick, and your heart continued to hammer - though now for different reasons. You had been worried about a shower while he was fighting for his life. This was no time for nerves. You had to fight for his life too.

    When the vehicle pulled into the ambulance bay, you and Matt were handed surgical masks and ushered, with security and other Hybe personnel in tow, through the ICU and into a massive steel elevator. You watched the round button number "5" light up red as Kang Dae pushed it with a gloved hand. After the brief assent, the doors opened into a space that looked like it was straight out of a Star Trek episode - floor to ceiling white, blinding fluorescent lights, and hospital workers covered from head to toe in sterile garments ebbing and flowing in urgent silence to and fro to the rhythmic serenading hums and beeps of medical equipment. You blinked in the offending brightness.

Your party was immediately approached by a small woman with a tablet and stylus who addressed Kang Dae. You heard your name mentioned. You heard Matt's. After a brief exchange with the Hybe attorney, Matt relayed that you were going to meet with Namjoon's oncologist. Kang Dae turned to address the security staff, and his words were met with nods and murmurs of acknowledgment except by the tall, serious man from the SUV, who responded to the attorney in a low but firm tone, his eyes flashing over to you as he spoke. You looked over to Matt, your brow creased in question. He watched as Kang Dae concluded the exchange and lead your now small group of four to follow the petite woman down a long, wide hall. As you walked, Matt leaned down to whisper in your ear.

    "It appears the indignant gentleman is your personal bodyguard. Seems he's reluctant to stay behind with the rest of security."

You glanced in surprised curiosity over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of the guard seated beside the rest of the team, elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped under his chin, a pensive expression on his rugged features, before he disappeared from view as you rounded a bend.

    The hall connected to a labyrinth of others, snaking off left and right, and punctuated with massive, heavy doors. Your guide abruptly swung left to face one of the entrees, flashing a badge card across a sensor which beeped, allowing her to push it inward. It opened into a suite of rooms much homier than the atmosphere behind you, though every bit as sterile.

In the vestibule was a small acrylic table surrounded by matching chairs. As you passed through you noted to the right, a small kitchenette, and to the left a rather large bathroom. At the end of the suite, you shuffled into a large room, separated on the far left end by a curtain. The space in which you stood was fitted with grey leather furniture, a tall bamboo plant in the corner, and a low acrylic coffee-table. An older, distinguished looking man in a white jacket stood from where he had been seated in one of the arm chairs and bowed. Your group bowed in return, and the translator asked that you be seated.

Dr. Na, as the man in the coat was introduced, would run through some last matters with you before you were to meet your soulmate. He relayed through the translator that this hospital was state of the art, Korea's finest, and a frontrunner in successful experimental treatments for cancer and other genetic diseases. The room you were occupying, he said, was a suite meant for long-term inpatient care, and would be nearly identical to the space you would share with Namjoon for the remainder of his inpatient treatment. He explained that Namjoon's condition has been detected far later than was desirable, and that treatments had included invasive surgery and aggressive rounds of chemotherapy, which had slowed, but not stopped the spread of tumors throughout his body. He said that Namjoon had displayed extreme physical and emotional resilience, but that his will to fight the disease overtaking his body had begun to wane with his strength and increasingly burdensome symptoms from both the cancer and its treatment.

At this point, Dr. Na turned to face Matt full on, and earnestly imparted to him while gesticulating at you. Matt's brow furrowed, and he nodded as he listened to the oncologist before turning serious eyes toward you. Kang Dae began to say something, but the doctor held up his hand while also turning his eyes toward you with an expectant gaze. 

    "Y/n," Matt began, interlacing his fingers as he often did when trying to choose his words carefully, "Dr. Na says that there is not a lot of research around treating cancer, especially at such an advanced stage, with the soulmate bond. There are accounts of it having seemingly miraculous effects on injury and illness, but none that have been objectively measured. It has been scientifically proven to a degree that soulmates bring about peak physical conditions in one another through the bond...over time. The thing the good doctor here really wants you to understand is that there is no guarantee that there is enough time in our situation. He says that bonding with him is going to be a major risk. If the treatment isn't successful and Namjoon should pass, that would mean your ultimate death soon after."

Matt's face had lost most of its stoicism. He looked deeply worried. He looked like he wanted you to get on a plane with him back to the States. He looked like he knew what you were going to do instead. You see, you had already thought about it - the possibility of death. You nodded.

     "Tell him I understand, Matt," you said calmly, "Tell him I'd like to meet Namjoon-ssi."

Matt stared at you for a beat, as if debating with himself before turning back to relay your message to Dr. Na. The oncologist nodded, and then turned to you and asked another question in Korean. The translator explained that the doctor wanted to know if you understood the basic implications of the soul-bond. You sighed. You did.  You knew that once bonded you would be reliant on each other for nourishment and survival until the end of your natural lives, and that the bond once established was irreversible. You knew the bond was initiated and maintained through skin-to-skin contact. You knew that the bond changed your body chemistry to no longer need food or water, and that food would eventually be rejected by the body like poison. You knew these things because you had done extensive research, not because anyone in the company asking for you to give over your body and soul had tried to make you aware. They had been interested in matters of signatures and compensation. How considerate of someone to ask you now, you thought with some contempt. You wondered what Namjoon knew, what he had been told, what he had been asked. 

     "I would like to meet my soulmate now," you said suddenly, cutting through the exchange between Dr. Na and Kang Dae.

All eyes turned on you, leaving in half-finished sentences a wake of mild surprise. "I know what I'm getting into on my end of things. You had expressed before that time was of the essence and I would like to be brought to him now."

Matt relayed your response to the group, and the doctor nodded. Soon you were being handed a hospital gown, and a sports bra, underwear, and socks from your suitcase - that you realized with a bit of alarm and indignation, you had not given anyone permission to retrieve - and were instructed to shower and change into these items. 

     You slipped into the bathroom and sank down on the closed toilet, dropping your head onto the little bundle of clothes in your arms.  In your first few moments alone in over twenty-four hours, everything was beginning to hit like a volley of arrows. Agendas, agendas. Hybe wanted your soulmate. The hospital wanted to beat his cancer. You wanted to help him live. But what did he want? Had anyone asked? Would he be honest, if they did? Not for the first time, something squeezed in your chest at the thought of him. But this time, it was stronger. Your head shot up from your lap. You had somewhere to be.

    After a quick and thorough wash-up, you padded into the hall where the little group awaited you. You were self-conscious in your limited attire, and you stood awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the next as people murmured in Korean. A nurse, who had joined the small throng, approached you, slipping a hospital bracelet with your name and Hangul characters and little numbers around your wrist and handing you a pair of grey slippers. Matt turned to you.

    "This is it, kiddo. You're going to go with Dr. Na and have your vitals taken, have some blood drawn, and then you'll go meet him."

Matt sighed deeply, his eyes searching yours. He took a backward glance and stepped just a bit closer, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"You sure about this?"

You nodded.

    "Yes, Matt, I'm sure."

He pulled his mouth in into a tense line, his brows drawing together.

    "That face you're making, that defiance in your eyes," his hand fell from your shoulder, "You could be his twin. I know I can't change your mind now. Nothing could."

You gave a knowing smile. He wasn't wrong. 

    "I'm gonna be okay, Matt. I'll see you tomorrow. Call my mom and tell her things went fine. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Matt scratched the back of his head, regarding you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. He bent to press a kiss to your forehead, and turned to make his polite goodbyes.

    The nurse ushered you down the hall and into a room that looked a little more like a typical hospital room with a gauze-covered table, a scale, and other vaguely familiar machines and equipment. After she had collected the desired data and taken a vial of your blood, she made a page in Korean, and then motioned for you to follow her. She took you down another series of passages and finally, when you were sure Theseus himself couldn't have found his way back, she stopped in front of a large steel door and scanned her badge.

Room number 594.

The door opened on its heavy hinges, swinging slowly inward. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You realized the moment you crossed the threshold  that you didn't have your things. You didn't have your phone, or your bag, or the book that was inside it, or what was between the pages of the book.

You thought about pear-shaped Italian cheese as you crossed through the kitchen area.

You thought about little Diana trying to stop your mother from crying as she lay on the floor of the kitchen, body shaking with sobs, as you moved into large open room at the end of the suite.

And then, there he was. It was all you could do not to gasp.

    You would never have recognized him for the man in the photo Diana had shoved into your face last week. Sitting propped up in a large hospital bed, he was covered up to the waist in blankets. His frame, though unmistakably large, was gaunt, and his white tee draped around him like something that used to fit - patches and wires visible across his chest through the cotton fabric. His long arms were thinner than they should have been, ashy, and littered with bruises. His head leaned back against the pillows, he wore a black beanie low on his brow, but not low enough to hide the naked skin where his eyebrows had been. His full lips were chapped and parted as he labored somewhat to breathe. The doctor was speaking to a tall man in a black tee and jeans beside the bed. Namjoon was watching them, until, suddenly, his gaze flicked to you. Your breath caught in your chest. His eyes were unchanged. Something flooded your veins.

    "I need to speak with Namjoon-ssi, please," you said abruptly, turning to the doctor and the man beside him.

They looked at you, quizzically. You cleared your throat to speak again, slower and more firmly.

"Could I be alone with him, for a moment? I need to speak with him before we begin."

The doctor turned to say something to the tall man, but a voice from the hospital bed addressed them in a soft, deep timbre. The tall man glanced at you and then at Namjoon and replied. They held a short exchange before both he and the doctor filed reluctantly out of the room, taking the nurse with them.

Namjoon sat further up in the bed, his face contorting in pain as you approached him. You stood a few feet from where he sat, your hands inexplicably itching to reach out for him. You clasped them behind your back.

    "Hello," he, rasped.

Even the hoarseness couldn't hide the warmth of his voice. You thought his eyes and his voice must be made of the very same stuff. You were suddenly a different kind of nervous. You didn't even register your own initiative to speak as the question came tumbling out.

    "Do you want to live?"

Your soulmate blinked in surprise.

    "What?"

You took a breath and repeated yourself, this time with intention.

    "Do you want to live?" You asked again. "I know there are plenty of people who want you too, but I want to know what you want."

He regarded you in intent silence for a long moment.

    "Yes," he said finally, his cadence thoughtful and deliberate, "Yes, I want to live. I wasn't sure I did, but I do. I do now."

You exhaled a little breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. 

    "Okay, good," you nodded, looking away from his intent gaze as you fought, again, the surging urge to reach for him.

His lips quirked into a little smirk at your reaction.

    "I was going to ask you a question too, but after introductions," those eyes caught yours again, teasingly, and the little smile deepened just a bit, pressing a dimple into his sunken cheek.

The misery he was living in and he was teasing you? You felt something flutter a little in your chest which you willed yourself to ignore.

    "I'm sorry," you bit back a smile, glancing away a bit bashfully, "I just needed to know that you had agency over what was happening here, that it was what you wanted. If no one else was going to give you that choice...well, I was."

He regarded you silently again before addressing you.

    "It's good to meet you, Y/n-ssi. I'm Kim Namjoon."

You couldn't suppress a smirk at his stubbornness, and at the fact that he already knew your name, like you knew his.

    "It's good to meet you, too, Namjoon-ssi," you replied softly.

He suddenly leaned back in the bed, wincing, his chest heaving a bit. You looked over at the heart monitor that beeped beside him to see that his pulse was rising.

    "Should I call in the doctor?" You asked in concern.

He shook his head weakly. 

    "Not yet," he pressed out, with effort. "I...need...to know..."

You stepped closer to hear him.

    "Know what?" He closed his eyes , bringing a hand over his chest as the beeping slowed.

    "You...could...die...trying to..." he broke into a bought of coughs that was obviously painful. Once he had caught his breath, he rasped, "Are you sure, Y/n-ssi?"

    "Yes," you answered without hesitation. "Yes, I'm sure. This is my choice. I'm sure."

He opened his eyes. You held each other in a silent gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't. He merely nodded and asked,

    "You ready, then?"

You met his questioning gaze with a wry smile and what you hoped were steady eyes as you answered.

    "Ready as I'll ever be."

    After the staff had returned to the room, the tall man in plainclothes introduced himself as Sejin, Namjoon's manager. He gave you a deep bow, which you returned, thanking you in practiced English for agreeing to bond with the idol - something that made you uncomfortable all the way down to your bones, and which you tried to dismiss without being impolite. The doctor spoke to Namjoon at some length, gesticulating to you several times. Sejin nodded along as the nurse typed notes onto her tablet.

You felt a bit frustrated, being on the outside of what so immediately concerned you. You were on the verge of asking for Matt to be brought in when Namjoon turned to you. 

    "The doctor says that while he understands first touch is an intimate experience, that he and two nurses will need to be present to monitor my vitals. My heart is on the weaker side these days."

He looked almost contrite as he said it and your chest squeezed. You nodded understandingly. He might be your soulmate, but you knew this wasn't a meet-cute. This was clinical. What was about to happen between you was a treatment. The doctor continued, and a nurse came around the bed to where you stood and waited expectantly as Namjoon turned to you, this time with an unmistakably apologetic look on his drawn features.

    "Dr. Na says that if first contact goes smoothly, we'll need to begin treatments aggressively, which means as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. I guess they want us both in just undergarments."

Ah, hence the hospital gown.

You felt heat creep up your neck. Under any other circumstances you would have been upset at the lack of privacy of it all, but these weren't like any circumstances you had ever been prepared to anticipate. You were going to have to figure the boundaries out as you went.

The nurse beside you rolled up a chair for you to sit in beside the bed, facing Namjoon. She untied and tugged the top of your hospital gown down to place a heart monitor on your chest, your soulmate respectfully averting his gaze.

When all the necessary preparations had been made, you found yourself sitting in a swivel chair cranked up to reach the height of the hospital bed, socked feet not touching the ground. You were facing Namjoon, who kept sitting forward, much to the chagrin of the nurses who kept gently but impatiently guiding him back against the pillows. You felt a sick feeling creep into the pit of your stomach as you glanced at the second nurse wheel in a defibrillator. How bad could this possibly be? Would it hurt? You steeled yourself as Namjoon sat forward again, turning up the palm of his large right hand which rested on the covers beside you.

    "It's time," he murmured softly, eyes on you as you gave one more glance to the doctor, who nodded, and giving in to an urge you had kept at bay since you entered the room you slipped your hand into his.

    A jolt shot through your body like an intense electric pulse. It hurt, like relentless aftershocks of overstimulation to sensitive flesh...and yet if felt good. So good. You had instinctively pulled to yank your hand away from the pure surprise of it, but you had tugged yourself back to no avail. You opened your eyes (you hadn't remembered closing them) to see Namjoon, head thrown back against the pillows, lips parted and eyes screwed shut as he clutched your hand in a vice grip. You glanced at the heart monitor spitting out beeps consistent with well over a hundred beats per minute. Was that yours or his? But you couldn't very well hold a coherent thought in your mind as warmth began to flood your body, followed by a tingling sensation that seemed to fizzle up from the base of your spine and trickle down your limbs.

Raising suddenly heavy eyes, you realized that you were swaying a bit on your feet. When did you stand? And you were much, much closer to Namjoon - your hand was curling around the base of his bicep, your elbow in his palm, as you pressed every possible square centimeter of your bare arm to his. His eyes were open now and he was looking at you as his chest rose and fell. You returned his gaze, unfocused, drunk on the sensations spreading through your being.

You blinked as you heard the doctor speak, but neither of you tore your eyes away, and as if in a trace, as the nurses helped you out of your clothes, and you crawled into the bed and slotted yourself against his side, stretching out your right arm to wrap around his torso. Every aspect of the feeling grew impossibly stronger, the pleasure factor so high that it felt somehow wrong to be experiencing this with a total stranger in a hospital room surrounded by others. You felt Namjoon let out a shuddering breath. His arms had snaked around you.

The last thing you remembered before falling into a delirium was the nurse pulling the covers over your bodies.

    When you awoke, or rather, came to, you felt wrong. You rubbed hazy eyes to find yourself on a little cot. Before you could even wonder where you were or how you got there, the events of the previous day came flooding back.

Holy shit, you thought, you were in Korea. You had met your soulmate - and bonded with him. 

When had you even fallen asleep? The last thing you remembered was climbing into Namjoon's bed. Your heartbeat quickened. First touch had been...something else. An image of your soulmate gripping your hand with his head thrown back flashed through your mind.

No, don't, you thought, and pushed yourself to sit up.

In your attempt to move, you quickly realized that the wrongness you felt was that you were incredibly weak. It was a strange sort of weakness, however, one that left you feeling exhausted with every tiny move but wasn't accompanied by any sort of discomfort. In fact, you felt like you were floating on a cloud, if only one you couldn't find the strength to roll off. 

You were back in your hospital gown. There was a small table to your left with a lamp, a little vase of flowers, and white telephone. To your left was a machine much like the one you had seen beside Namjoon's bed beeping away, a little green line spiking and dropping across the monitor. A long curtain stretched across the space in front of you. You needed to pee.

As you moved to get off the cot, a sting of pain shot through your right arm at the inner joint and you realized that you had missed the IV drip beside the heart monitor. Clamping the IV stand you rose precariously on wobbly legs. You shuffled wearily forward, pulling the curtain back to reveal the other half of the room...and your soulmate.

He was sitting in bed, over the covers, in a heather grey tee and navy blue sweats, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He was still wearing the beanie, and his head was dipped down, immersed in the book he was holding open in his lap. The mid-morning sun spilled through the open window, bathing the suite in a pale yellow that blanketed generic seating furniture and a small bookshelf topped with a bonsai tree and painted clay figurine beside the bed, but left the abstract art piece on the opposite wall in relative shadow.

You were about to retreat back behind the curtain when a wheel of your portable IV stand betrayed you with a squeak. You pulled the curtain hurriedly shut, but too late.

    "Hello?" You heard him call softly.

His voice sounded better, you thought. Not nearly as raspy. You must look like shit, you also thought. Oh well, you needed to get past him to look decent anyway. And to pee. And he was going to see you probably every day for the rest of your life, so, bashfulness regarding your morning mug was definitely a waste of emotional energy. You heaved a sigh, and slowly pulled back the curtain, peeking through as you advanced a step.

    "I didn't want to disturb you," you fibbed, clutching the IV stand.

    "You're not disturbing me," he responded, shutting his book.

He was looking at you with a soft expression, reserved, but still warm. He looked a lot better than yesterday, too; it was unmistakable. His skin had lost a great deal of its previously ashy quality and the bruises on his arms had nearly vanished. His lips were no longer chapped, and, you noted, were full and naturally deep in color. His face looked less wane, though still thin, his shirt still hanging loosely over his chest and broad, sloping shoulders.

    "You look a little better," you urged, hoping to justify your prolonged stare.

He smiled. You were quickly reminded like a sock to the gut how pretty his smile was. 

    "I feel better," he concurred, "Thanks to you."

You looked down at your feet awkwardly. You had never been good at receiving praise or gratitude.

    "Oh...I'm glad," you mumbled. 

    "How do you feel?" he asked.

You raised your gaze back up to meet his, a wry smile tugging at your lips. 

    "Probably about as good as I look," you rejoined.

He pulled his smile into a tight line, eyes creasing. You thought maybe that was what he looked like when he was trying not to laugh. Suddenly you felt your bladder demand priority of attention.

    "Well, I'm gonna...get ready. For the day," you motioned, quickly realizing you had nothing to change into, and slipped back into the little room behind the curtain.

Scanning the space, you noted your suitcase and bag against the wall. You filled your bag with the essentials and a change before popping back out into the other half of the room on your way to the bathroom. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Namjoon glanced at you before looking down at his book again, and you ignored the tight feeling in your chest one more time.

    Your mom had always said that a hot shower could make a person reborn, and by golly you figured she was right. You felt life seeping back into your limbs slowly but surely as the warm water poured over your body. As always, hot water and steam against white tile oiled cogs of your mind.

Clearly, the bond had served Namjoon well. You were anxious to know what a medical assessment would report. Your own exhaustion confused you, however. Wasn't the bond supposed to nourish you, rejuvenate you? When would you stop needing food? How often would you need to practice skinship now that you were bonded? And what would that look like? A thousand questions filled your mind as you massaged your scalp. You made a mental note to write a list of questions for the doctor.

    Once you had finished your morning routine, you felt infinitely more prepared to face the day. You changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. As you shuffled back toward your room, you noticed Namjoon bent over the bonsai, tiny scissors in hand. A nurse was typing on a tablet on the other side of the bed.

    "Um, Namjoon," you asked, as you paused.

He startled a bit as he looked up at you, dropping the little scissors and cursing under his breath. The nurse peeked over and when she had seemingly assessed that no damage had been done, she smirked.

    "At least no bonsai limbs were lost this time," she murmured.

Namjoon slipped the scissors into a little leather pouch.

    "Hilarious," he deadpanned, then turned his attention back to you, "Sorry, did you ask me something?"

    "Actually," you blinked in surprise, "I was going to ask you to ask the nurse, but I guess I can ask her myself this time."

The nurse smiled at you. 

    "Ganhosanim, this is Y/n-ssi," Namjoon said, addressing the woman. She gave you a bow which you returned.

    "Annyeonghaseyo," she greeted you, "I'm Nurse Cha and I'll be your attending on most days. Please feel free to speak to me in English," she smiled.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders. While you had been studying Korean furiously ever since your decision had been made, having medical personnel you could communicate with at this stage without having to rely on Namjoon to translate for you was a welcome relief. 

    "If you have a minute, I have some questions? Or, I will, once I write them down. Could I just put my stuff away and come right back?" You asked eagerly. She nodded, still typing away on the tablet. You dropped your bag beside your suitcase, which you tossed on the bed and unzipped to extract a pen and a notebook with three little bees embossed into the cover. You donned your slippers and crossed back over to Namjoon's side. He was sitting on the bed again, and nurse Yun was examining one of his arms. You plopped down in an armchair beside the bookshelf. 

    "Nice bonsai," you remarked, trailing your eyes over the intricate geometric patterns of its shallow stone pot.

    "Nice journal," he replied. "Moleskin?"

You nodded, holding it up to show him the front.

    "It has bees," you said with solemnity, as if the whimsy of the endearing was something to be taken quite seriously, and Namjoon hummed in grave assent. Nurse Cha glanced between you, a smirk at the corner of her mouth.

    "You said you had some questions, Y/n-ssi?" She offered.

    "Yes," you began, scribbling a few down in the pages in your lap before beginning. "Firstly wha- Oh! What happened to me yesterday? Did I pass out?" You interrupted yourself to ask.

    "Yes," she replied. "While the bonding was successful, and the skinship was highly rejuvenating for Namjoon, it appears that you were giving more than you were getting from a physiological standpoint, and while the effect was still probably similar to you on a cellular level, you were disproportionate in your transfer of energy. We've put you on an IV drip for now to ensure you're getting the replenishment your body needs regardless of food intake."

You jotted down a few lines of notes.

    "Okay, makes sense. Now, moving on to the food thing - we're still eating, right?"

Nurse Cha began typing on her tablet as she responded.

    "Yes. However, there is great boidiversity as to when and what people start rejecting as far as food goes. The average point of solid food rejection begins around two weeks after bonding. Generally, bonded individuals are still able to consume water and distilled alcohols, though they become unable to experience taste."

    "Does alcohol have the same...effect?" Namjoon spoke up from the bed.

    "An intensified one, actually," she responded, "Being a bonded mate means rediscovering your tolerance, and caution is of course advised. We've actually taken blood panels to alert us of any food sensitivities you may have. These should be immediately eliminated from your diet, as the rejection symptoms can be more severe in cases of late-stage ingestion with these items. The doctor will be in later to review those results with you."

    "Okay. And how often will we need to practice skinship, and are we going to need to initiate it ourselves or are we going to be on a schedule?"

    "I was wondering about that too," Namjoon said, adjusting his beanie.

    "The doctor will go over that with you as soon as he arrives in a little while as well. I know I'm scheduled to update your charts every six hours, so I'm sure there will be some guidance involved at first."

You quickly glanced up at Namjoon and then down at your lap. A warmth spread through your chest as you tried to keep your eyes on your notes and off of his bare arms. You were having those stupid urges to latch onto him again. Your hand twitched around your pen. You wondered what his thoughts were on your next session.

Just then, Dr. Na entered the room. He greeted both of you warmly and Nurse Cha took over relaying the consultation in English.

The oncologist was very optimistic about the effect of the soulmate bond on Namjoon, saying that his vitals had stabilized, his pain levels were lower than they'd been in weeks and the inflammation in his body had decreased significantly. He stressed that, while these were good signs, they were not a guarantee that the skinship was treating the cancer, and that they would have to take scans after a time to see if the tumors had were in fact shrinking.

He reviewed your blood panel results, letting you know that from that point forward you were to avoid consuming nightshades while communicating to Namjoon that he hadn't tested positive for any food sensitivities. He showed you a chart dictating when and how long you should practice skinship each day, beginning with a session immediately following the consultation. He cautioned you to alert medical staff if during a session you began to feel overly-drain, as they did not want you coming to the point of fainting again. You were removed from your IV drip.

    After the doctor had taken his leave, Nurse Cha fixed you with additional monitors, instructed you both to strip down to your maximum level of comfortability for the session, and departed. Once you were down to bra and panties, you climbed up into the huge hospital bed to join Namjoon, who once again kept his gaze trained anywhere but your side of the bed as you slipped under the covers and pressed yourself into his side.

Suddenly it was as if you had slipped into a warm bath under the influence of champagne. You closed your eyes and sank into the incredible sensation of his touch. His skin was like a warm cup of tea on the coldest day of the year. Like the first refreshing moments of a plunge into cool water at the height of summer. It was everything wonderful all at once, and you were so caught up in the sensation that you were barely cognizant of a tiny moan escaping your lips. 

Horrified, you bit down on your bottom lip and prayed to all that was sacred that Namjoon hadn't noticed. His immediate soft laughter, however, betrayed him, and you felt your face burning with embarrassment - beads of sweat pricking on your forehead as you covered your face with a different kind of groan.

    "Sorry," you murmured, ruefully.

    "Nah, I get it," Namjoon chuckled, his chest rumbling under your cheek. "If it feels as good for you as it does for me, then that's the correct response."

You allowed yourself to giggle a bit in turn.

    "I'm glad it's already helping," you remarked, and you felt him turn his head as if he was looking down at you.

He was silent for a beat before addressing you again.

    "Everything happened so quickly yesterday, I didn't even get a chance to thank you."

    "For what?" you countered, even though you knew exactly where he was headed with this.

    "For leaving your life behind and coming to Korea to give a stranger a chance at his. I'm going to spend the rest of my time making it up to you."

You felt your chest tighten. You pushed yourself up on one arm and turned to face him. The sheet fell down your upper body as you moved, but you were too intent on looking him in the face to notice. 

    "Namjoon, you're not a charity case. I didn't do this so that you would owe me something. This is a choice I made. All mine. So relieve yourself of any debt you may feel you owe me. We're bound by circumstance, but you're a free man in every sense of the word. I won't be a burden you bear any more than you wish to be one to me."

If you had been looking through his eyes, you would have seen yourself, pressed up out of the sheets with all the modesty of a sea nymph, your features glowing with the effects of the bond and fixed with a splendid kind of resoluteness and soft defiance. But, you saw it from your own, taking in the quiet shock on Namjoon's features that slowly morphed into something you couldn't place. Not yet. You didn't know him well enough.

After regarding you blinkingly, he looked at you with earnest eyes and gave a nod.

    "I accept those terms," he assented, and you believed him.

You thought maybe you'd believe anything he said, and, suddenly aware of the bareness of your torso under the intentness of his gaze, you slipped back down against his side.

    "I noticed you dropped the honorifics," he murmured teasingly.

You glanced back up at him.

    "Oh...sorry, I'm not used to it. I can -"

    "It's alright," he interjected, "I think we should be familiar. It will make things easier, right? Only if you want, though," he quickly added.

    "Yeah, no, I agree," you answered, shifting to press your leg more fully against his, and smiling to yourself as you keyed up your next remark.

"And I'm only your noona by a little bit anyway, so no need to call me that..."

This time a loud laugh burst out of him that shook your head enough for you to roll away and shoot him a look as he brushed a hand over his eyes in amusement. You smiled as you took in his dimpled cheeks and crescent eyes, and nearly didn't notice the voice speaking in bemused and startled Korean at the mouth of the hall. It was Namjoon who looked up first.

    "Yah!" He called in indignation and warning as you followed his gaze to catch but a glimpse of two young men, badly repressing snickers as they bolted back down the hall to the entry of the suite. 

Namjoon sighed sharply and turned to you with and apologetic expression.

    "I'm so sorry, those idiots are my friends. They're used to coming and going as they please to visit me - which, obviously now they can't just barge in unannounced."

He slipped out of bed, and you glanced away as he pulled on sweats and a shirt.

"I'll tell them to come back at a better time."

    "No, no!" you protested, "Just let me get decent. I want to meet them."

Namjoon paused as he kicked on his slippers. 

    "You sure?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

    "Yeah, yeah. I know we're still on skinship time, but, maybe we can just...hold hands? I mean, as long as you're okay with it..."

Namjoon's mouth slipped into a wry grin as he glanced down to the other end of the suite. 

    "Yeah, I'm fine with it. I apologize in advance if they can't be."

You gave a confused shrug as Namjoon picked up his phone and crossed into the vestibule area to give you the privacy to change. You pulled your leggings and sweatshirt back on and perched yourself cross-legged on the hospital bed, listening with amused anticipation as Namjoon spoke in exasperated Korean on the other side of the wall. You heard the door and three sets of footsteps accompanied by giggles and shushing, and then your soulmate emerged, all but herding the two young men preceding him into the room.

You immediately recognized the strapping, dark-haired one with the leporine smile as Jungkook, the young man who had accompanied Hybe's representation to visit you on Namjoon's behalf. The other young man you also recognized from internet images as one of the members, though you couldn't recall his name. He was shorter than Jungkook, though not by as much as he should have been due to the significance of his heeled boots. What he lacked in height he made up for in athletic build and voluptuously beautiful facial features. He shook his honey blonde hair out of his eyes, earrings tinkling as he regarded you with a coy smile.

    "Ijjogeun Y/n-ieo. Y/n, this is Jungkook and Jimin," Namjoon said, gesturing to each of the members as they made polite bows. 

    "Annyeonghaseyo," you said, returning their bows deeply, "Mannaseo bangapseumnida - dasi mannaseo bangabseubnida, Jungkook-ssi."

Jungkook flashed a blinding smile, round eyes wide and sparkling.

    "It's good to see you again too, noona," he answered in English. Namjoon's brow creased as he glanced between you and the young man you had been originally introduced to as the maknae of BTS.

    "You've met?" he asked. You nodded.

    "Jungkook was one of the people who came to meet me in the US when your company made the proposition," you explained. "He spoke very, very highly of you. His reference of your character was one of the major contributing factors toward my decision to come."

You smiled softly at Jungkook. Namjoon nodded, brow still drawn, as he pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, jaw clenched and jutting forward, as he clapped the youngest on the shoulder. You thought Jungkook's eyes were just a bit glassy as the two shared a look that seemed to hold a lifetime of history. Jimin regarded the two with sentimentality before returning his gaze to you, again full of enigmatic mischief. The blonde took a step toward you, then turned on his booted heal, saying something to Namjoon in Korean.

You cocked your head to the side, glancing at your soulmate.

    "He said I look a lot better already," Namjoon said, eyeing Jimin warily as the younger man continued speaking, flashing you a devilish grin. Jungkook pulled his pierced lower lip between his teeth as he glanced between Namjoon and Jimin. You looked again to Namjoon expectantly.

    Awkwardness radiated from him as he deflected saying Jimin was just making fun, and he shot the younger man a look that unmistakably communicated his lack of amusement. Namjoon made another remark in Korean, and joined you back on the bed, hesitating only a moment before he took your hand in his.

You saw his shoulders sag in relief as he breathed a sigh through his nose at the contact. You had to restrain your own reaction, glancing down shyly as to avoid the two pairs of eyes trained in rapt curiosity on you from the end of the bed. Namjoon continued to speak with them, translating between you when your limited Korean wasn't sufficient, and gradually your awkwardness eased in the comfortable presence that emanated between your soulmate and his members.

As the visitors were about to take their leave, Jimin trained you with a newly serious look, leaning against the edge of the bed, and glancing at Namjoon as he spoke in what you could decipher was gratitude. 

    "He says they're all so grateful to you and glad to have you with us," Namjoon translated. You noticed his thumb slide over the back of your hand as he said it. So did Jimin, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he eyed where your digits were intertwined.

    "Ah," you said awkwardly, "No thanks necessary, we're in this together, right?"

You pulled your hand from Namjoon's and in an attempt to raise your arm and give him a nonchalant pat on the back, you backhanded him directly in the face. 

Namjoon's hand flew up to his cheek and the two younger members erupted in laughter. You apologized profusely, trying to make sure Namjoon could hear you over Jungkook's wheezing and Jimin's shrieks of what you were pretty sure was "oh shit, there are two of them". When Namjoon had assured you that he was perfectly fine and the other two had composed themselves, you said your goodbyes. As soon as they were out the door, Namjoon was apologizing.

    "It's fine," you smirked with a shrug, "That's friends for you. I would have been concerned if they hadn't poked a little fun. I like them. I want to meet the rest of them."

Namjoon slipped back up onto the bed and intertwined his hand with yours as he glanced down, a pensive look on his face.

    "There's a lot of people you need to meet," he said quietly, thoughtfully.

You studied him as he continued to look down at your joined hands.

"In fact," he continued, "There was someone I was hoping you could meet tomorrow. Someone we should sit down...and talk with."

You nodded, regarding him intently.

"Her name is Kim Hyung-seo," he continued, "She's my fiancée."

AN: Yeah, sorry to drop that at the end and peace out. 😁✌

Tag list: @butterymin @little-dark-empress @aretha170 @kamilamb @jlee97 @thephotoend @callmenoona25

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Nissan Pathfinder Concept, 2023. Presented at the the Shanghai Auto Show, a prototype for a new 7-seat SUV for the Chinese market. Unrelated to the US market Pathfinder, the production version will be produced through the partnership with Dongfeng Nissan and will be powered by a turbocharged 2 litre engine

[snapthistiger]

exercise 06072024

bike ride to work

lifeguard work 445a to 1015a

3 x 10 lat pull

3 x 5 dips

3 x 10 tricep press

3 x 10 row

30 minutes on the step mill

3 x 10 overhead press

bike ride the library and home

the gym workers and lifeguards received Hershey kisses

at work i watched swimmers the entire time

bottom = Air Force special forces recruit candidates and their trainer going through some swimming drills. not all of the candidates will make it to be accepted in the Air Force special forces program. these are new candidates and some of them struggled with the swim requirements

on my bike ride home, i came to an intersection where the traffic light is out and the police have put up temporary STOP signs to make the intersection a 4 way stop. after the truck in the crossing lane went by, i started across in the crosswalk lane and the lady in the SUV behind the truck started to go and almost hit me. i was startled and ran into the temporary STOP sign and crashed to the ground. i only had a superficial scrape on my knee. the lady in the SUV wasn't concerned and she took off. i got up, dusted off and proceeded to the library

checked out 2 books for my Mom from the library

top right = beautiful blue sky and white cloud

borrowed mother in law's riding mower and mowed the yard

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

[savageonwheels]

2022 Lexus LX 600 F Sport Handling

It's big, it's bold and it's expensive. But the new LX 600 will go off road, like its predecessor, the Land Cruiser.

A Land Cruiser in fancier duds and an in-your-face grille … Big comes in all sizes. That may sound counterintuitive, but consider the new Lexus LX 600, which replaces the LX 570 that had grown old in styling and tech. Not to worry, the LX 600 looks massive with possibly the industry’s biggest, most intimidating grille while featuring a whole host of new tech slathered into its high-end luxury…

[diocletianscabbagefarm]

Looking at comments in this silly bike helmet debate does show me how many people are used to painted bicycle gutters without separation from car traffic as the optimistic high end of cycling infrastructure.

I suspect helmets never caught on here (though the authorities are trying) because of a number of factors such as 1) overconfidence due to riding a bike - often alone - since being a preteen if not a toddler, to the point it’s second nature 2) most trips being short and a part of other activities such as riding two-three streets over to the local shop or public transport, rather than being classified as a separate category of activity like a sport, like “jogging” is different from walking. It strikes me that North-Americans often classify it more like a sport and I’ve heard multiple cycling advocates talk about the way this is a hurdle as cycling is dismissed by car drivers as a leisure activity rather than legitimate means of transport 3) the benefits of a helmet are seen as rather marginal because the streets are already pretty safe here (car fatalities occur at one tenth the rate they do in the US for example) because a) since the 70s Dutch street design has tried its best to physically separate bikes from the biggest danger on the road (cars) through segregated bike lanes, curbs, barriers and foliage in between. According to design guides mixing is only allowed in places where cars drive very slowly (30km/h, or about 19mph) and the volume of traffic is very low b) city design routes cars and bikes through different routes through the city to common destinations (the most direct route for a cyclist might be a straight shot through a residential neighborhood while the cars are routed along the highway around the city) to avoid them coming into conflict with each other. This is called “ontvlechten”, meaning ‘to disentangle’ c) most drivers are not overtly and actively hostile to cyclists. Almost all of them cycle too, so they tend to be aware and deferential to cyclists because they know what it’s like to be outside their steel cage.

Because of this, the hassle of using a helmet is likely seen as not really worth it, because the context doesn’t necessitate it as much. Here’s some typical Dutch street design.

Look at that sweet sweet separation.

I mean if I had to cycle on what passes for biking infrastructure in North America where you’re wedged on a tiny painted lane between SUVs trying to run you off the road for daring to infringe on their sacred asfalt while needing to go onto the road to circumvent rows of cars parked in the bike path, while trying not to get launched into the air like a SpaceX rocket due to potholes, before the bikelane inevitably simply ends and you need to bike on the road for a couple blocks before it resumes… I wouldn’t be wearing a helmet because I simply would not be fucking cycling at all.

[betterbooktitles]

I was standing in Terminal 4 at JFK far away from the impatient scrum of people waiting near my gate for a Delta agent to announce it was their turn to board. As I watched passengers who’d arrived on other flights step around this pool of people buried in their phones, so desperate to be sitting on the plane instead of standing inside the airport, I thought about a review of William Gibson’s 2012 book of essays called Distrust That Particular Flavor, a book I’ve never read.

In “Distrust That Particular Flavor,” Gibson pulls off a dazzling trick. Instead of predicting the future, he finds the future all around him, mashed up with the past, and reveals our own domain to us as a science-fictional marvel… I glanced up from the pages of this book and surveyed the street-side around me, I felt as if I were wearing Gibson-glasses. Cars lumbered past like ponderous elephants of rusty steel, not so different from the cars of 30 years ago, and seemed not to belong in the same world as the tattooed kid punching code into his laptop nearby. Under the spell of this book, I suddenly understood my surroundings not as a discrete contemporary tableau but as a hodgepodge of 1910, 1980, 2011 and 2020. -Pagan Kennedy, NY Times

I am several steps removed: I was remembering reading a review of a book published 12 years ago that was filled with writing previously published in magazines decades earlier. I could have easily downloaded a digital copy of the book on my phone and started reading the source material, but instead, I searched Google for the most pared-down version of what I wanted to remember from Gibson’s writing, that single quote that encapsulated what I was thinking at that moment: 

“The future is already here – it's just not evenly distributed.”

The night before my trip, my phone buzzed and the Delta app offered a tantalizing deal: a few thousand miles to move from the 22nd row of the Main Cabin to Delta Comfort+, one row behind First Class, where I knew there was enough room to cross my legs like I’m on a park bench or extend them as if at home sitting in a recliner. I looked at my phone from my bed and moved my left leg. I felt my knee pop. I hit the button and ordered the nicer seat. “The future is now!” I thought as I rolled over, then checked my 2-3 more times that the alarm on my phone was set correctly before finally falling asleep.

I was flying to visit my family in North Carolina, where I would ride from the Charlotte airport to my parents’ house in a fully-electric SUV, stuck the whole way behind gas-powered lowrider motorcycles and one massive Ford that billowed black smoke from silver exhaust pipes sticking up like goalposts on the back of the truck’s cab. All the while, I’d see how developed the suburbs of Charlotte were becoming, whole blocks of houses and high-rises popping up like dandelions, covering what used to be open fields. I’d watch the Uber app on my phone continually update me on the status of the route, reestimating our ETA every few minutes as we sat in traffic. I would spend the ride glancing from my phone to the map on his dashboard, and wonder how we ever survived before GPS. Between the airport and our destination, we made all but 3 turns.

Before any of that happened, though, before any of the thoughts about watching the future blossom all around me while the past angrily revved its fossil-fueled engines up and down I-77, I had to survive the flight from NYC to Charlotte.

As I scanned the bright open space at JFK, I saw a freckled woman my age sitting alone covered in a yellow blanket. She appeared to be on the verge of tears. Since I was about to take my own emotionally taxing trip, one to see my sick father while his pain was still somewhat manageable, I considered asking simply if she was OK. Then I saw her take out her phone to text someone, and suddenly I couldn’t gauge if she was sad or severely hungover. I remembered that airports (outside the Midwest) aren’t for chatting up strangers. She was in her own little world and didn’t need a man’s halfhearted prying. Everyone in the airport was in sweatpants and pretending they were in their living rooms, pretending to be alone on the couch instead of sitting in a wide room with a hundred other miserable tired people. My attention turned to the black toddler in a green shirt stomping on the bright white linoleum and laughing. He was in a better mood than any adult I could see from my vantage point. His mom called him and said it was time to get on the plane.

We idled at the gate for twenty extra minutes after everyone was in their seats. I read a book on my phone and smiled to myself when I realized the plane door was closed, meaning no one else would be joining me in my row, hence the desperate offer from Delta the night before asking if I wanted a seat for much less than the price when I had originally bought the ticket. This was going to be the most comfortable flight I ever took. The only issue was that several people had left their window covers open, and the Sun was starting to heat up the cabin. A child directly behind me complained to her grandma about her discomfort, a baby cried from the back of the plane, and the toddler I had seen earlier, sitting on his mother’s lap three rows back, was wailing. The mother of the toddler was also traveling with her ailing mother who I’d seen pleasantly thanking the Delta staff earlier for bringing her to the plane in a wheelchair. They were both Southern black women wearing beige sweats from head to toe, and until this moment had spent the holding period at the gate pleading with the kid to “come on and be quiet now” and insisting to passengers around her that he usually doesn’t act this way on planes. I heard people around her say “It’s just fine” and “how old?”

A flight attendant, who I’d recently watched serve booze to everyone in First Class (why not, It’s 10:30 AM somewhere), warned over the loudspeaker that the routine demonstration on plane safety was about to begin. I always feel rude for continuing whatever I’m doing while another human being stands in the aisle showing me how not to die. Remembering to keep my seatbelt fastened during turbulence or to put my oxygen mask on before assisting others could save my life, and yet I sit there, fully ignoring the speech even as a member of the flight crew uses the plastic cover directly above my head to demonstrate how the yellow mask will flop down as we’re all screaming and crying and can’t remember our training. The flight attendant held the mask with both hands inches from my face and I kept reading. This dismissive attitude toward the safety speech is all the stranger when I remember that my biggest fear is dying in a plane crash. 

I was once on a JetBlue flight that hit some rough air. I distracted myself by watching Marvel’s Iron Man 3 on the back of the seat in front of me (this was before I became a professional flyer and brought my own screens with me). There’s a scene in the movie where Tony Stark’s house is destroyed by a helicopter. Right before Stark successfully shoots down the flying assailant, the movie jumped abruptly to the next scene. JetBlue doesn’t edit anything sexy from in-flight entertainment, but they will cut anything that reminds you of your potential fiery death in a plane crash. When I noticed what had happened, I laughed to myself. How silly to think people would be scared by a Marvel movie. Then I thought, “maybe they cut those scenes because crashing is so common and they want you to forget. Why would they cut the scene if it weren’t an actual event that happens all the time?” I worked myself up over not seeing a plane crash in a movie while I was on a plane. I panicked over the absence of a frightening image. That’s how nervous I get on airplanes.Scary stuff.

We were at the step where the flight attendants walked the entire aisle with one hand sliding against the white plastic covers of the overhead compartments to make sure they were secure when the woman holding her crying toddler walked up to my 75%-empty aisle.

“I think if he had a little more room, he’d be fine,” she said to the flight attendant who already had her hands up defensively. “Can we take these empty seats if no one else is coming?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to the people who paid to upgrade.” The flight attendant shook her head as she spoke.

“Well, can I upgrade?” The woman asked.

Sternly, the flight attendant said: “It’s too late for that.”

The woman turned to go back to her seat, and in a huff said “I’m never fucking flying Delta again. Fuck this shit.” As she sat down in her seat, she claimed loudly “if I were a white woman, they’d give me that seat.” 

Her mother sitting in the seat next to her backed her up: “I know that’s right.”

“Excuse me,” I said to the flight attendant, she leaned down, all teeth and painted eyebrows. 

“Yes, sir?” she said.

“I’m happy to switch with her if it makes things easier.”

Before she could answer, the white grandma behind me objected “Yeah, nuh uh! - no, thank you!” Without looking in her direction, I put my hand up to block her face from my peripheral vision and thought “Adults are talking.”

I continued: “I understand not giving her a seat, but if I’m fine with it, it’s OK to swap, right?” 

The flight attendant, with a smugness that reminded me of my Third Grade teacher, said “We don’t reward bad behavior.”

Read the rest here.