#knj fluff

Which brings you to your second point—your father, needless to say, isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. He barks orders at you and your sister and your mother the same way he barks orders at his administrative assistants, and expects everything to be done in order and in a certain way, and God help the person who can’t read his mind. The whisper-thin threads of blood relation holding you all together have been made even weaker by you and your sister's decisions not to follow in his footsteps, and now you just consider yourself lucky if you get a gift—always something with a ridiculous price tag, impersonal, and no doubt wrapped and shipped by some poor schmuck at his office—sent to your door at Christmas.

You can think of maybe three times he’s called in the years since you moved out of your parents’ place and into the studio apartment. The first time was to tell you that your paternal grandmother, a distant and formidable figure in your life, had passed and that you were expected at the hospital funeral hall. The second was to tell you that he’d just met the son of an acquaintance, a fine and capable young man named Choi Seungcheol, and that you were expected to meet Seungcheol for dinner at the Shilla Hotel that Friday evening. The third was an accident—he’d meant to call your sister, and anyway, have you heard from her, she has the nerve to funnel money from my bank account straight to Boston College but can’t be bothered to let us know how she’s doing, I have to go just let us know if you ever receive a sign of life. Click.

So this would be the fourth, and it crashes down upon you from on high on a Sunday morning. Last night’s tension plus a lame excuse from Seungcheol about working until midnight meant going home to sleep in your own bed, and you’ve just managed to quiet the voices in your head until the blare of your ringtone obliterates the possibility of rest.

You squint at the screen and tap the green button, against your better judgment. “Hello?”

“What’s this I hear about you and Seungcheol setting a wedding date?”

You roll your eyes. “Gee, news travels fast.”

Your father sighs, like he can’t believe he has to deal with you at seven AM on a Sunday. “Good. You’ve been dating for too long, and you know Seungcheol’s father is a good friend of mine. I’m glad you two have finally decided to stop beating around the bush.”

“Who said we’re getting married?”

“I had drinks with Chairman Choi last night. You know we’re in talks for a merger. Imagine my shock when he casually brought up the fact that my own daughter is getting married.”

You do know that your father and Chairman Choi are in talks for a merger. You also know that marrying Seungcheol would practically pave the way for a buyout of your father’s firm by Seungcheol’s family’s firm, and that your father desperately wants to retire in a multibillion-won blaze of glory, and if you aren’t a Stanford MBA grad or even an SNU grad, you might as well prove useful by doing this one little thing.

Almost embarrassing, how dramatic it all is, but nonetheless: “It’s not decided, yet. I mean—he hasn’t proposed, or—we’re not actually getting married yet, okay?”

A beat passes. “And why the hell not.”

It really is too early for this, you think. “It’s not like we’ve broken up. I’m just not ready to be married?”

“No one’s ever ready to be married. Don’t be ridiculous. I married your mother the fourth time I met her, and we were both 26. You are 29 years old. You’ve been dating that boy for three years, and I don’t see why you’re still together if you’ve had no intention of marrying him.”

He has a point. (It’s horrifying that your parents were married off to each other at such a young age by forces beyond their control, but he does have a point.) You don’t believe that marriage is something to be rushed into or forced just because you’re “at the age.” Marriage is something that you think should come naturally. You’ve heard the horror stories—women your age getting married to the person they just happened to be dating in the latter half of their twenties. Throwing the requisite hotel ceremony and reception, moving into an expensive Seoul apartment in a good school district, getting pregnant, and pushing out babies before realizing that they weren’t right for each other, after all. 

Point being, you don’t see marriage as an end goal for anything. If you’re plenty satisfied with the way things are now—the way your relationship is going now—then you see no point in rushing into the legally binding commitment. In theory, you’d be perfectly fine just dating someone forever, so long as you were happy.

But it does have you thinking. If you can’t even picture marrying Seungcheol, why the hell are you still dating him?

“Abeoji, I have to go,” you say. (A lie, because where the fuck would you be going at seven AM on a Sunday, but he doesn’t have to know this.) “I don’t know what Seungcheol’s father heard, but it’s not true. We haven’t made any plans. If we do, you’d be the first to know.” (Another lie, because Tae has all but made you sign a contract to ensure that he’ll have that distinct honor, but you digress.)

“I’m not done,” your father manages to bark, before you can hit End call. “I want to see you and Seungcheol at Kojima for dinner this Saturday. I’m inviting Chairman Choi and his wife, too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Seungcheol, and I’m done wasting everyone’s time.”

“Abeoji, I—”

Click. Unbelievable. You glare at the phone, like your father can see you, and toss it down on the duvet. 

Another thing about your father: He is a man used to getting his way. You wish you could say you’ve cut him off; that the two of you have no relationship, that you owe him nothing now that you’re out from under his roof. But working at a library doesn’t pay what it should, so this studio you’re sitting in right now? He’s the one making those rent payments. Seoul, you quickly learned, would be criminally unlivable otherwise. If not for your father, you would be living in some desolate sharehome with strangers, subsisting on nothing but Shin Cups and CU-issued gimbap.

Looks like you have dinner plans on Saturday. Fat chance that you’ll be able to go back to sleep now.

You drag yourself upright, rubbing the crust out of your eyes. Sundays are the most divinely blessed day of the week, at the very least because you don’t have to work. Plus, Sundays mean waking up in Seungcheol’s place, with his down comforter and fancy espresso machine and a whole day ahead to do nothing. If he’s in the mood and not busy, the two of you will do nothing but roll around in bed before his afternoon basketball game; otherwise, he’ll retreat to his office to work, and you’ll end up dragging Tae out to grocery shop or people-watch at the Han River or psychoanalyze his last hookup. Depending on the mood.

Today, though…. You kind of just feel down. Now that you have the prospect of a forced engagement looming over your head, all menacing and Damoclean, your plans to accompany Cheol to today’s game feel like entirely too much. All you want to do is lie down, pull the comforter over your head, and—

Ding, ding, ding. Your doorbell.

No. You flop back into your nest and turn over, back to your front door. Probably just the Coupang delivery guy—you made Tae order you a new tablecloth a couple of days ago, after he spilled soy sauce all over the last one.

Ding, ding, ding. You frown, glaring at the door. This Coupang guy has zero noonchi if he’s assaulting your doorbell this early in the morning. They’ll usually just drop the package by the door and leave—a second ring is almost unheard of. You crawl under the duvet, burrito yourself in it, and hope that whoever it is has the good sense to leave before trying you a third—

Ding, ding, ding. For Christ’s sake. You groan, put on your slippers, and head toward the security panel on your wall, which shows you that the person outside your door is—

“Unnie!” 

Unbelievable. This day could not possibly go any more awry.

You squint at the video display. Rub your eyes. Squint again, because this cannot possibly be real.

“Unnie, let me in, it’s fucking freezing out here!” Eunbi whines into the camera. “And I need a hundred thousand won. I took one of those airport taxis here since you live so fucking far and the guy’s waiting to be paid outside.”

Nope. Still not real. Because Eunbi is in Boston, going by Ella, studying biology at Boston College. Because it is the middle of her spring semester, and her international student tuition is extremely expensive, and there is no way she blew off her classes and dropped two grand on a plane ticket to Incheon and is standing on your doorstep right now. 

“Unnie, I know you’re in there! I heard your footsteps!”

You yank open the door. “Eunbi, what the actual fuck—”

She looks like the Eunbi you sent off in a taxi mid-January, at the end of her last winter break. Sounds like her, too. Except this stranger standing in front of you has an eyebrow piercing, her hair cropped into a chin-length bob and bleached horribly blonde, and lipstick so flagrantly red that it would give your poor mother a stroke. 

You wouldn’t blame her. You feel one coming on yourself.

Eunbi thrusts out her hand expectantly, the other resting on the handle of a gigantic, beat-up Rimowa. “Hundred thousand. Pay up, the guy’s probably pissed by now.”

You sigh. What choice do you have? You find your purse on the hook by the door, locate your wallet, and extract a couple of bills. Without so much as a thanks, Eunbi snatches the cash and tears off toward the elevators.

Typical. So painfully typical. While she runs off to settle her bill, you tug her thousand-kilo suitcase into your tiny entryway and up the half-step into your living space.

Exactly two minutes later, Eunbi’s back in your doorway, kicking off her Golden Gooses and throwing her arms around you. “Thanks, unnie! You missed me, didn’t you?”

You wriggle out of her grasp. Which is no easy feat—to your chagrin, Eunbi is at least three inches taller than you and much, much stronger, a fact she likes to lord over you at every opportunity. 

“What the hell,” you start, shoving a finger in Eunbi’s face, “are you doing here and not in Boston where you belong.”

Eunbi holds up her hands, eyes wide. “Okay, let me explain—”

“Because the last I checked,” you thunder, your borderline maternal anger shooting through the roof, “you were enrolled! In classes? As a student? Classes that are, conveniently, still in session for the spring semester? Or am I missing something?”

“Unnie, please—”

“So you’d better have a really good explanation for how you managed to get on a flight here when you’re supposed to be in class, you insolent little—”

“I dropped out, okay?” Eunbi shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “I left for the spring semester.”

You just gape at her for a second, stunned into silence, but recover enough to shout back, “Well, un-withdraw!”

“Unnie,” Eunbi mutters. That brave, happy-go-lucky facade crumbles instantly. “I flunked out. I didn’t withdraw. They kicked me out because my grades were so shit. They put me on academic probation last semester and gave me until last week to demonstrate improvement, but I didn’t. So they ‘released’ me. I can go back in the fall, but for now….”

She trails off, voice soaked in despair. Starts rubbing at her face, and some ghost-white foundation gets on the cuff of her jacket, but you don’t comment on it.

“I fucked up, bad,” Eunbi whispers.

“But wait,” you say, disoriented. Something isn’t adding up. “You send umma and appa your grades at the end of every term. They never—you never said—”

“Turns out it’s mad easy to photoshop a transcript.”

You sigh again, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay. So what’s your plan?”

Eunbi just blinks at you. She’s six years younger than you are, a non-negligible age gap—in fact, you’ve long suspected she was an accidental creation—but you’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you are her older sister, and she is the baby of the family. A little foolish, a little helpless, and a lot irresponsible.

And now, she’s looking to you to help her fix her problems. Again. Like the time you’d talked your father down from his rage after Eunbi’s rejection letter from Harvard arrived; like the time you quietly picked her up from a hookup gone sour near a sleazy Hongdae club.

You’re the inevitable answer, it seems, to all of her fuck-ups. After all, why toe the line when you know there will be someone there to rescue you, no matter what happens?

You sigh again, crossing your arms. “What’s your plan?” you repeat. “You hopped on a plane, took a taxi to my house. Now what? You’re just going to hide out here without umma and appa finding out? You’re not going to land at Incheon in June, when they come to pick you up? You’re going to take an extra semester to graduate next year, and they’re not going to ask you about it?”

Eunbi buries her face in one of your throw pillows, and it takes everything in you to not comment about her getting mascara stains on it. “Cut me some slack, okay?” she says, muffled. “It’s been a traumatizing twenty-four hours for me.”

For me, too, you think ruefully, but keep that to yourself. For now, you just sigh a third time. Run a hand through her hair, which, honestly—”Looks like shit.”

“Fuck off,” Eunbi mutters, face still nestled in the pillow.

“God, do you even use a conditioner? Or get it toned? You can’t just bleach your hair and be done with it, you know. It’s all frizzy and brassy because you haven’t been taking care of it properly.”

“Little hard to do when you’re flunking out of every fucking class you’re in, unnie.”

You pat her shoulder gingerly. Despite your utter shock and horror at seeing your sister disgrace your doorstep in the middle of March, you feel for her. Really, you do. After all, your father had been fine with sending you to any college in Seoul. He’d hoped for SNU but settled for Kyunghee, and when you chose to study library sciences he nearly disowned you, but his silent treatment defrosted after only a month or two.

Meanwhile, he refused to send Eunbi to a school in America if it wasn’t in the Ivy League. It took weeks of your mother wearing him down for him to finally agree to Boston College. Eunbi might have been the one who insisted on broadening her horizons, yes, but she’d also been eighteen at the time—still so young, still so unsure of what she wanted. And she’d gone to an international school as a teenager, picking up fluency in English as a result, but you imagine it was still a culture shock for her to go to university in a completely different country. To study biology as a pre-med, no less, at your father’s insistence.

Despite the sight in front of you, you have sympathy for her. You really do. The kind of inevitable, hopeless sympathy that gets clawed out of you whenever you see your little sister like this. Your life isn’t coming up all sunshine and rainbows, either, but objectively, you think Eunbi might have a bigger storm coming than you do.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” You get up, heading toward your closet to find a jacket. “Come on. I’ll buy you seolleongtang.”

——

You end up going to the fucking basketball game, after all.

You hadn’t planned to. In fact, it’s rare that you do go. You’re more of a baseball person, really, and all you end up doing is lounging in the bleachers with the other bored girlfriends, occasionally handing Seungcheol water and a towel and feeling distinctly like you have nothing meaningful to contribute to the whole affair.

But Eunbi looks hollow, her cheerful self still nowhere to be seen even after a bowl of her favorite seolleongtang, and you think maybe it’s best that you don’t give her the opportunity to mope around in your tiny studio all day. So you go. Even though you and Seungcheol left things at an awkward place last night; even though you feel nauseated just thinking about him, knowing what’s to come next weekend. You can suck it up for Eunbi’s sake, and besides—you feel guilty for reacting so poorly to Seungcheol’s suggestion of marriage. Like maybe you were being unreasonable for shutting down someone who, predictably, might want to marry you after almost four years of dating with no hiccups.

Sunday at 3 PM finds you sitting on the second row of the bleachers, Eunbi visibly perking up at the sight of sweaty, fit men in their late twenties in basketball jerseys. Seungcheol’s IM team consists of his college classmates—sunbaes, hoobaes, and everyone in between, all friends of friends from economics classes or shared dorm rooms or film clubs. The league is lowkey, loosely organized, not all that competitive; the prize is the pot of whatever’s leftover of their registration money, once they’ve paid the gym rental fee.

You rummage around in your bag. Pocari Sweat, Jeju Samdasoo water, the washed spare towel you keep at your place for Seungcheol.

Seungkwan used to poke fun at you, whine about how you never brought him a towel. They all did—the boys on Seungcheol’s team were sweet, playful, plucking at your elder sister heartstrings like the little brothers they were. And then Soonyoung got too close and spilled Pocari all over the front of your (very white, suddenly very sheer) shirt one afternoon, and Seungcheol shot him a look that could have killed a Victorian child, and that quickly put an end to that. Now, they all just give you polite nods when they spot you in the bleachers; never speak to you outside of bare pleasantries.

You miss them, and that’s maybe part of the reason why you don’t show up to these games very often anymore. It just feels lonely. Lonely when you watch everyone else gathering after the games for dinner and drinks and Seungcheol just wants to take you home; lonely when you see them laughing and slapping each other’s backs on the other end of the gym, and remember a time you were privy to their inside jokes, too.

Now, though, Eunbi’s talking a mile a minute next to you, seemingly recovered from her slump. 

“Who’s that one? The cute one with the adorable eyes? The back of his jersey says ‘Kwon.’ Unnie, come on, I promise I won’t try to fuck around with anyone, I know they’re all hyeongbu’s friends—ooh, wait, I want to meet that one. The one with glasses. Can’t see the back of his jersey, though—Jeo something. Jeon? Jeong?”

You ignore her, pointedly keeping your eyes trained on Seungcheol. He hasn’t spotted you yet, busy practicing free throws at the other end of the gym. Until Soonyoung nudges him and nods toward you, and when Seungcheol spots you and Eunbi, his expression is unreadable.

“Well, glad to see you too, hyeongbu,” Eunbi mumbles, clocking this immediately. “What, lover’s spat or something?”

“Hush,” you snap. “He’s coming.”

Seungcheol takes his time to wander over to where you and your sister sit. For a moment, you let yourself remember how good he looks like this: a fine glimmer of sweat on his brow, bolded eyebrows furrowed, the way his exposed arms swell against his dark jersey. As he gets closer, he finally breaks into a shy smile.

That, you think to yourself, waving at him. That’s who I fell in love with. You know you’re lucky to have him—who wouldn't fall for fairytale-prince looks like this?

“Hi,” he says, stepping up on the first row of bleachers. He leans in, kisses you swiftly on the lips. He tastes like sweat, and like mint lip balm, and like… Seungcheol. Familiar. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hi, hyeongbu,” Eunbi interjects.

“You, either,” Seungcheol adds, raising an eyebrow. He gives Eunbi a high-five. “And why aren’t you in Boston, cheoje?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh. “I’ll explain later.”

“Are you joining us for dinner on Saturday too, then?” Seungcheol asks, turning to Eunbi. “At Kojima?”

“Not if she doesn’t want to get flayed to within an inch of her life, she isn't,” you rush out, before Eunbi can open her mouth. “Go, Cheol, your friends are looking for you.”

“Rude!” Eunbi huffs, as Cheol pecks you one last time and jogs back to his team. “I want Kojima!”

You roll your eyes. “You will not be going anywhere until we figure out what you’re telling umma and appa.” 

Eunbi seemingly has no response to this. Instead, she leans back on her palms and gazes out at Seungcheol’s teammates, who have all gathered in a circle closer to where you two are sitting. “Ooh, looks like the game’s about to start.”

Your eyes skim over the familiar group. Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Wonwoo, Junhui, Jeongguk, Yoongi….

And…

Mr. Feminist Poetry. Mr. Missing Library Card. Kim Namjoon.

You wouldn’t be certain that it’s him, given your laughable memory for faces, but he stands a few inches above the rest, and it’s not often that you come across someone that tall.

You don’t remember seeing him before, although maybe you’ve been missing him, given how few games you’ve attended recently. You watch as he joins the huddle by the bench and bends his head to listen to Seungcheol, their de facto leader, hype them up for the first quarter.

“Unnie, unnie, who is that?” Eunbi squeals, clapping a hand over her mouth, and even before you can follow her line of sight, you have a funny feeling you know who she’s referring to. “Oh, my god. I think I might actually pass out. The tall one. Unnie, please tell me you have no idea who that is. I need to fuck him raw, upside down, over a counter—”

“Eunbi.”

“Sorry, but it’s true. God, look at him. I mean, hyeongbu’s good looking and all, but… god.”

“God called,” you deadpan. “He says you’re not allowed to fuck your brother-in-law’s teammates. It’s in the Bible. And also to please stop using His name in vain.”

“Ha-ha.” Eunbi’s eyes round as the bell goes off and the ball bounces into action.

“Don’t stare too long. Your eyes might fall out.”

“Shut up,” Eunbi whispers, her eyes following no one but Namjoon. “I’m having a spiritual experience.”

——

Namjoon didn’t want to come, at first.

Sports aren’t really his thing. Never were, and if he’s being honest he still has war flashbacks to middle school. Before he grew into himself, before puberty erased the softness of his limbs and the roundness of his cheeks. Being the last one picked on every field day, dreading the hot afternoons running laps on the rubber track behind the school. Spending every lunch hour studying in the library, reasoning that if he couldn’t beat Han Jiho at soccer, he could surely outrank Jiho’s exam scores.

So when Yoongi, one of his best friends from college, asked Namjoon to join some of the other alums on an IM team, Namjoon already had half a mind—fine, ninety-nine percent of a mind—to decline. Weekends are tough for him to give up, and he doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea of wasting away his Sunday afternoons in exactly the kind of place he had stress dreams about as a child.

But this weekend…. Well, he had some unexpected free time, and he’d rather not be moping around in his shoebox apartment. So he consented, against his better judgment, and now he’s standing in a corner of a high school gym, just barely listening as Yoongi explains the basic rules of basketball.

“And—okay, I want to think that even you know this already, please feel free to stop me at any point if any of this sounds familiar—traveling is when—”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, voice jagged. He clears his throat. “Who is—who are all the people in the—”

“Yah, have you even been listening? Do you understand how serious this is? This is the first time you’ve attempted to play a sport in months—”

“The bleachers, hyung. Who are the people in the bleachers.”

Yoongi sighs, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “The girlfriends. The wives. We’re, like, in our mid-thirties—”

“Speak for yourself, hyung, I’m still the picture of youth. I swear I got carded the other day.”

“You look like shit and you know it. And stop interrupting me. Anyway, traveling is when—”

But Namjoon’s not listening anymore, because all he can see is you.

Maybe it was a fool’s errand to give you his number. Or maybe the truly foolish thing was expecting you to, you know, use it. The fact of the matter is that he spent most of his evenings after work this week waiting for his phone to ping with a call, a Kakao, anything. But nothing ever came, except Yoongi’s extremely reluctant invitation to play basketball, which is why he’s here.

And you’re here, too. Namjoon can’t remember the last time someone piqued his interest. Can’t remember a time when his nails weren’t bitten to the quick, navy blue worries about his job and family bleeding into his every waking moment.

He can’t explain it. Can’t explain anything, except that you’re here, and not in the library, and he’s trying awfully hard to avoid feeling like this is fate. Or divine intervention. Namjoon has plenty of reasons to believe that God and fate don’t exist, but watching you, feeling his lungs swell and his heartbeat pound at the mere sight of you, looking so soft and so lovely against the drab wooden bleachers—he’s not so sure.

“... Got it?”

Yoongi’s voice snaps back into his consciousness, rough and gravelly, and Namjoon starts. “Yeah, hyung, I’m good. I’m not, like, totally unfamiliar with basketball, you know. You used to make me watch all those NBA games on that shifty website back in college—”

“It was not shifty,” Yoongi insists. “But okay, whatever. It’s your funeral. If you embarrass me out on the court today I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.”

“You always act like that,” Namjoon jabs, unable to resist. 

“Aish, fuck off. Cheol’s calling us. Let’s go.”

Namjoon’s familiar with the other guys, but he found it hard to maintain most of his friendships after… everything. He knows Seungcheol is some bigshot lawyer, knows Wonwoo streams for a living, knows Seungkwan does something in the entertainment industry. But he hasn’t spoken to any of them in years.

The only friends who refused to let him cut them off back then were Yoongi and Jeongguk. Jeongguk, who didn’t know better and was too young and sweet and stubborn for his own good; Yoongi, who claimed he’d been through entirely too much with Namjoon to give him up now, and what, did Namjoon expect Yoongi to go to all the effort of making friends with someone else, what did Namjoon take him for, a moron?

So it’s only Jeongguk who looks pleased to see him, that boyish grin emerging full-force. The others smile guardedly, some of them inclining their heads or raising hands in greeting. Too familiar to act like total strangers; too distant to act like good friends. Namjoon’s only been here for about fifteen minutes, but already all he wants to do is turn right back around and walk out.

“Alright,” Seungcheol says, gathering everyone in a loose huddle. Namjoon bends his head to hear a little better through the squeaks and groans of the bleachers behind him. “We’ve got Namjoon-ssi joining us for the first time—you all remember him, yeah? Glad you could join us. This is really meant to be casual, so let’s just have fun.”

Something about Seungcheol’s speech sends a flash of irritation shooting through Namjoon, a lightning bolt of warning. The words themselves are innocuous enough, but it’s something about the way Seungcheol introduced Namjoon, like Namjoon should be a near-total stranger to these people, all of these guys who went to college with him. Something about the way Seungcheol emphasized that the game was casual and just for fun, like he didn’t expect Namjoon’s skills to actually measure up. Vaguely patronizing, vaguely belittling, and yet Namjoon has zero reason to believe Seungcheol meant it that way.

Call it a defense mechanism, the way his radar is so finely honed that it’s apt to trip at the most imperceptible hazard. Maybe Han Jiho really did a number on him in middle school, after all.

Or maybe he’s just become more guarded. Protective.

After all, he has more at stake than he did then.

“What’s wrong with whatever you have on?” You can hear him getting up, praying he’s leaving the room. 

“I just don’t feel good in it. Also it’s kinda chilly out, maybe I should go with something more comfor- “

The door swings open and you stumble back a bit, almost losing balance in your heels. Luckily, it’s a modest sized bathroom and you just end up bumping into the counter. 

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak but gets stuck where he’s standing, eyes roaming up and down your body. You suddenly feel more self-conscious than before and try to cover yourself with your arms. “Stop staring, please…I know I look like trash. I just wanna change.”

“Why? You look beautiful.”

You look what?

“What? No. Shut up, Joonie. Get out of my room and let me put something else on.” You look down, face burning, flustered beyond belief. He takes a step closer to you. 

“No, y/n. You’re wearing this. You look fucking fantastic.” You shake your head, eyes and flustered cheeks stuck on the ground until all you see are his feet in front of yours. “I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop saying that. Stop lying.” You whisper, slightly defeated. You feel a hand on your waist, just above your hip. Another hand cradles your cheek, lifting slightly so you can lock eyes with him. 

“In all the years we’ve been friends, y/n… when have I once lied to you? Especially about you?” Your eyes search for any ounce of a lie in his own eyes. You swear you see them land on your lips a few times. You lick your lipstick stained lips subconsciously as you let out a small breath, looking down at his shirt. You miss the way he gulps at your tongue’s action, as well as your fingers ever so lightly grazing against his skin as you grab his shirt and play with the fabric between your fingers. 

“Never. You’ve never lied but…”

“But what, y/n?” His hold on your waist tightens just slightly, pulling himself a little closer to you, hips almost touching. He places his forehead against yours, noses barely touching. His thumb soothing back and forth along your cheekbone. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I’m going to have to hide you from everyone so no one can touch you tonight…” 

Your stomach plummets, a bolt of lightning shoots straight through your spine and your face has somehow gotten even hotter if that’s possible. How is that possible? Can he feel how hot your forehead is right now? Oh god he can, can’t he? You shake your head and pull your face away from his, his hand, and the sudden tension in the bathroom. 

“Please. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” 

He’s whispering now, lifting the hand that was just on your face to move a piece of hair out of the way. This can’t be happening. You just want to change back into pajamas and go back to bed. No party. No fun. No Namjoon. Just you and your bed and your feelings crying out into your pillow.

But then again, he never lies to you. Never. Not once. So what if? What if this is the chance to say it? The chance to tell your best friend you’re in love with him and all you think about every day is his lips on yours, and the feeling of his hands in yours as you give into one another? But what if he’s just being kind and calling you beautiful and there’s no intentions and he’s just doing that thing again where personal space doesn’t exist? What if you lose him? 

But what if you don’t and he loves you back? But what if?

“Don’t. Don’t say things like that unless you mean them. My heart can’t take the back and forth on if you mean it or not and it’s killing me.” You stammer over some words but you did it. You got it out there. 

But you’re met with silence. Deafening silence. And you’re terrified to look up. But you do. And your heart stops. He’s so beautiful. But he’s smiling. Not enough for the dimples to show, but it’s there. “What?” Your voice is shaking and your breathing is out of rhythm. 

“Took you long enough, jagi.” He chuckles softly before leaning down, tilting his head slightly to delicately place his lips on yours.

Sparks. Everywhere. This is what the movies kept talking about. When you kiss and all you can feel or see are sparks. Your hand on his shirt tightens, pulling him closer while the other hand slips to the back of his neck to hold him in place. You part your lips to try to speak but Namjoon decides you’re not done yet and crashes his lips back to yours, teasing them open with his tongue and sliding it in your mouth to deepen the kiss as much as possible. 

His hands trail down your body to your hips where he easily hoists you up onto the counter, tapping your thigh to make you spread them enough for him to step in between. This causes your dress to rise up enough that you can feel the cool counter on your ass. But that feeling is nothing compared to the burning sensation his touches leave behind. His hands slide up and down your thighs, getting closer to your hips and back down to your ass every time. On one pass, he drags his nails across your skin, eliciting a low moan from you that he swallows down. He finally pulls away enough for you both to catch your breath. 

“Do you-” He pants. 

“Have any idea-” He leans back down to kiss your lips. 

“How long-” Then your cheek. You turn your face away from him, giving more room. 

“I have been waiting-” Then your jaw. 

“For you to finally-” Your throat.

“Fucking finally say something?” He pulls aside the strap of your dress and places an open mouth kiss there, sucking harshly. Your moan is higher in pitch this time. “Three fucking years, jagi. Three. After you got drunk and kissed me by accident. Do you remember that?” He tugs your legs, pulling you closer to him so you could feel him better. 

“You said you didn’t remember anything from the night.” You frown in between gasps. 

“That, my love, is the only time I’ve ever lied to you. I remember it so perfectly. Your lips are still just as soft and perfect.” He brings his lips back up to yours, leaving kisses that are soft and lingering, but still full of need and desire. You wrap both arms around his neck, trying desperately to keep his lips against yours. But he’s stronger than you, so he pulls away with ease, placing a kiss on your nose before cupping your face in his hands. 

“I was waiting for you to make the final move. You said when we were kids that you wanted to be the girl that makes the move on the guy. So I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. Watching the most beautiful girl in the world tear herself apart over and over again and go after idiots that don’t know how to be with someone as perfect as you.” He places another soft kiss on your lips. 

“But I’m tired of waiting, jagi. I love you.” 

You sniffle, tears threatening to escape as you look anywhere but his eyes. You did tell him you wanted to make the first move. You didn’t expect him to keep that memory and take it seriously. You let out a few more sniffles, followed by an unwarranted whimper before tilting your gaze back to him. 

“I love you, too…” you almost whisper it. But judging from his smile, you know he heard you. He kisses your forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around you bringing you in for a hug. You both stay like that, in each other’s arms, refusing to let go until his phone sets off. He’s forced to pull away, giving you another kiss before leaving the bathroom to grab his phone off your bed.

“It’s Hobi. He’s pissed we’re not there, yet.” He grumbles as he returns, getting ready to type out some excuse about traffic when he looks up at you, thumbs freezing over the screen. You haven’t moved an inch. Dress strap dangling off your arm. The bottom of your dress is wrapped around the space where your hips and waist meet. Your legs are still spread so he can see a flash of your underwear. You look disheveled in the best way possible and he has to snap himself back into reality. 

He quickly shoots a text to Hobi before tossing his phone on the counter and returning to his spot between your legs. “Change of plans.” He mutters against the shell of your ear. “I can’t have you going out in that dress. I don’t want people looking at you. No one is allowed to look or touch you except for me, okay?” 

You nod tentatively. “So should I change then? We’re so late, is Hobi mad?” You question all while Namjoon is leaving marks across your neck and jawline. Your hand grips at the hair at the base of his neck. His hands slide up your inner thighs, trying to separate them further. 

“Nope. We’re not going anymore. I can’t just walk away from this when it’s right in front of me.” He groans when a thumb finally reaches your underwear and he can feel the wet spot. Your hips react on their own as you push forward so his thumb presses against your center. 

“Fuck jagi.” He mumbles under his breath. “Say you want this, please. Say I can take you to bed right now and we can make up for three years of this stupid back and forth dance. Please.” You gasp as he moves his thumb in small circles against the cotton over your bundle of nerves and your grip on his hair tightens further. 

“I want you, Joonie. So bad. I need you. Take me to bed.” You whimper as his lips meet yours again for the umpteenth time. His thumb leaves your center and both hands wrap around your thighs as you lock your legs around him. 

A few lamps illuminated the street with their yellow dimmed light as a dark, giant shadow slipped past. Quiet footsteps could be heard in the stillness of the cold winter night, wading through ankle-deep snow in heavy black boots. They were on their way to the sturdy apartment building on the left side of the desolate street, determined to fulfil their quest. They took another look around before they slipped through the glass door, the red fabric of their clothes gleamed under the flickering light of the broken lamp of the entrance lobby. Then, the night was quiet again.

You had been out with your best friend and next-door neighbour Namjoon whom you knew a few years by now. From the first day you had set foot in the small apartment building, he had been a helping hand, mainly through helping you carry a myriad of small boxes and things all the way up to the 6th floor where the both of you lived. The elevator had, of course, been out of order on that day. But he hadn’t complained at all! And because he had gone way out of his way even though he had only met you that same day, you had invited him to a take-away pizza and a bottle of cheap wine from the supermarket right around the corner. You had not expected your first night in your new home to be like this, to be so much fun. He had stayed until the morning, the two of you talking about anything and everything until the birds had chirped good morning outside. And the bond between the two of you had only grown from there on out.

You had visited a local Christmas market together, drinking a whole lot of eggnog and relishing in the joyful spirit of Christmas. You had never been someone to celebrate Christmas before you had met Namjoon. In your first year, he had basically dragged you to the market and filled you up with all kinds of different Christmassy drinks and snacks, bought you several gingerbread hearts, and even got you to ride one of the many attractions with him. The next day had been awful, the hot chocolate with rum had come out the same way that it had gone in. Still, it had been the most joyous Christmas time you had ever had.

Ever since then, he always did something new with you every Christmas. Buying a tree, seeing a Santa Claus show in the city centre, or writing letters with long wish lists to Santa. But it had never come down to actually spending Christmas eve and morning together, to your disappointment. He usually drove to his parents, a three-hour ride from where you lived, leaving you on your own to sulk in loneliness until he came back for New Year’s Eve.

Well, this year he had bugged you until you had agreed to go décor shopping for your apartment with him. It had made him sad to see your living space so empty during a cheery time like this. He got you all the basic things: fairy lights, cute little snowmen that had the friendliest smiles, a whole lot of candlesticks with red candles that smelled like gingerbread and cinnamon, hell, even glitter balls and bows for the small tree he also had gotten you.

After putting all the decorations up and “to celebrate your joyful shopping spree”, as Namjoon had called it, he had once again persuaded you to go to the Christmas market, letting no feeble excuses count. He had been in too good of a mood anyway for you to turn him down. You found it cute when he was all excited and giddy like this.

He had ordered eggnog after eggnog. His infectious enthusiasm had only gone up, not down a tad as you had hoped. But after the third eggnog, you hadn’t minded anymore anyway. Namjoon had entertained you all through the evening, making you laugh and enjoy yourself after a long week of studying and learning. Even though it had just snowed the other day, the eggnog had held you warm through and through, your cheeks feeling hot. Maybe it had also been a little bit because of Namjoon and how he had scooted closer and closer to you throughout the evening, ‘to keep each other warm’ as he had stated.

You had stayed until the booth had closed and the owner had hushed you to finally head home. Given both of your inebriated states, getting home had taken twice as long as it did when you’d left from home to go out.

As you had reached the door, waving a last goodbye to Namjoon who had stumbled clumsily into his own apartment, it had taken you a few minutes until you finally had gotten the key into the hole. You hadn’t even bothered to brush your teeth, only changing into comfy pyjamas – which had been quite the task – and slipping into bed. Dreamland hadn’t waited long to come, and you had fallen sound asleep.

So, to no one’s surprise, you didn’t hear when soft but heavy footsteps approached your apartment in the middle of the night. Didn’t spot the broad shadow that could be seen through the small gap under your door where the light fell in. Didn’t notice when a thick package wrapped with packing paper was pushed through the letter slot of your apartment door.

The package fell to the ground with a gentle thud. The towering figure hummed a merry tune before taking off again. You only turned around in your sleep, mumbling, “No more eggnog, Namjoon”, before it was quiet once more.

The rest of the night went uneventfully, and the package laid peacefully on your door mat until morning came.

A pounding headache. That was what had woken you up. The eggnog hadn’t been a good idea from the start, and you had told Namjoon several times. But even though he had listened to you, he had ignored your reasonable request. He hadn’t really given you a choice to begin with. And you hadn’t wanted to complain. At least he had paid and that was all that had been needed to convince you.

While Namjoon was already producing his own music, you were still a university student majoring in Art. You got by fine with the money your parents sent you and what you earned from your part-time job at the library, but you were still glad for every penny you could keep and save for after university. You dreamed of opening your own business and, heck, you needed a lot of money for that.

When Namjoon had heard of your ideas, he had been in immediately, supporting you in every way possible. Even if it meant paying for your drinks or your museum visits on the weekend. As long as he got to spend time with you, it was worth all his money.

You desperately grabbled for the nightstand. Luckily, you had prepared pain meds and water in advance, even a small piece of toast. Your nights out with Namjoon usually ended like this, so you are accustomed to it.

Sitting up a little, you popped the pills into your mouth first before chucking the water into your throat as if your life depended on it. Once you’d dealt with that, you reached towards the toast, munching on it until it was no more.

You felt better immediately as the medicine worked its way through your system and the toast soaked up the remaining alcohol in your stomach. Slowly the turns in your stomach lessened and until there was one thing overtaking your needs. It was time for coffee.

Slowly, you got up, swaying a little back onto the bed but overall, it was not as bad as you’d had expected. Sure, the eggnog had made your stomach a little weak, but you felt certain it could handle the coffee. Otherwise, you couldn’t make it through the day. Coffee was vital right now.

On the way out of your bedroom, you snatched your long silk gown, putting it on. You headed straight to the coffee machine, pushing the little blinking button so it started grinding the black beans. The soft smell of freshly ground coffee filled the air as you grabbed a big mug from the sink. You sighed and leaned one hip on the counter.

As you waited for the coffee you looked around and your gaze fell onto an exceptionally cheery snowman on your coffee table. You had never been keen on Christmas decorations. They were too bright, too colourful, and too cheesy.

Well, jokes on you. All the things the two of you had bought, the fairy lights, red candles, a few reindeers and snowmen, and some green fir branches, were now spread around your apartment, the small tree chilling next to your TV in the corner. It was hard to say ‘No’ to Namjoon’s puppy eyes. He usually got his way with you.

It had also been his idea to not only put the lights on the curtain rods but to wind them around them, too. 

He had held you safely by your waist as you had stood on the ladder to reach up there. His long, slender hands had felt so warm through your clothes that your heart had stuttered for a second and you had gotten the job done rather quickly to get away from this weird feeling that had erupted in your chest. Because you couldn’t admit it to yourself. You couldn’t admit that Namjoon had become more than a best friend to you over the last few years.

But you had to confess; the lights were very very pretty. You even thought about keeping them up there after Christmas. They brought a soft glow around the room that made it feel unbelievably cosy and romantic.

As you absentmindedly grabbed for your finished cup of coffee you couldn’t help but remember the way Namjoon’s skin had glowed in these lights. How mesmerizing he had looked. How hard you had had to keep yourself from putting a hand up to one of his cheeks and caressing his soft skin.

You lost yourself in the memory for a second before you noticed something very peculiar from the corner of your eye. Something very square and brown. It was a package. On your doormat. ‘What in god’s name,’ you thought to yourself as you eyed it in curious suspicion. The post usually never came that early. Especially not on a Saturday. And why had no one rang the bell? It was odd, to say the least.

You left your coffee on the counter, steam still rising in puffy clouds from the cup. Cautiously, you made your way over to the mysterious package that read your full address, but no sender. It was quite big, now that you had gotten closer, and it had you wondering how it had fit through the narrow letter slot. Maybe Namjoon was pulling a prank on you?

Before you picked up the package, you opened the door and checked the hallway, frantically looking left and right. But no one was there, not even Namjoon to cheekily grin at you.

Closing the door behind you, you took the brown package and laid it down on the counter next to your coffee. You eyed it once more while taking a long sip from the beverage. Should you open it? What if there was something… bad or deadly inside? You had heard of such packages before on the news. People sent them to get revenge on ex-partners or enemies. Well, you had no such things… and Namjoon seemed to be out of the picture as well.

After some more staring, curiosity finally got the best of you, and you carefully ripped open the brown packing paper. It revealed a heavy book that was edged in red velvety fabric that had golden ornaments engraved. Imprinted on it was the lettering “Naughty or Nice”. Wait- what?!

Snorting laughter erupted from your chest. This had to be a prank, right? ‘Namjoon’s good,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Keeps hiding until I actually look at the book. Not a very good prank, but alright…’

As you were about to open it, you could hear a key jingling in front of your door and some mumbled curses. ‘Speaking of the devil.’ Namjoon strode through the door in his pyjama and a long gown, his hair looking dishevelled and eyes still half-closed. He had your spare keys which gave him the possibility to let himself in whenever and you didn’t mind. At this point, it had become commonplace.

You watched with an amused grin as he immediately scuffed over to the coffee machine, grabbing another cup from the sink, and turning it on once more. He inhaled the smell just like you did before he turned around to face you.

“Morning, Y/N,” he hummed, and a lop-sided grin adorned his lips. Hell, how did this sleepy look fit him so well? “How is your stomach?”

You crossed your arms and leant back on the counter. “Better than I thought. You?”

“Same, same. I just really craved your coffee. This machine is a literal angel!” He turned back around to grab his coffee and take a big gulp before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Very funny, by the way.” You pointed at the book behind you, still laying unopened on your counter. “You never have Christmas-pranked me before so that’s a first. But it isn’t one of your best ideas, if I can be honest with you.”

There was a moment of silence. You had expected him to laugh at you or make a clever remark about how he had gotten you to open it. But… nothing. He just blankly stared at you. “What?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Making this book look like Santa’s Naughty or Nice list? Very funny, Namjoon, very funny!” You chuckled a little at him pretending not to know what you were talking about.

He spied over your shoulder, reading the lettering. And shook his head. “Y/N. I… didn’t prank you. This–“ He pointed to the book. “–is nothing I came up with. Though I must say, I think it’s a pretty good idea!” He snickered a little and took another sip of his coffee.

“But–“ You turned around to the book. “–who sent it to me then? I don’t know who else would try and prank me…” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, taking another look at the packing paper. Still nothing but your address.

“Have you opened it yet?”

“No, I was just about to when you came through the door.” You put a hand on the binding. The velvet fabric felt soft under your fingertips and the golden lettering glittered in the glim of the fairy lights. It looked so… real.

Carefully, you opened it, coming face to face with a blank page. Maybe the others? You browsed to the next page. And the next. And the next. But they were all blank, not even a tiny little bit of ink to be seen. ‘Weird…’

Skimming through the rest of the book, you looked for anything peculiar. Nothing. “It’s empty,” you told Namjoon, while going back to the first page and leaving it open.

You heard shuffling on the floor and suddenly Namjoon leaned over your shoulder to look at the book. He stretched out his hand to skim through it as well. He was so close. You could feel the heat radiating off his body and his breath on your neck as he let out a confused huff.

When he stepped back from you after inspecting the book, you wished him back closer behind you. ‘Stop that,’ you scolded yourself in your head. ‘He is your best friend!’

“Well, it actually looks like someone pulled a prank on you,” Namjoon stated while making himself another cup of coffee. He usually runs on three. On a good day. That you knew his coffee consumption so well said a lot about how regularly he came over in the morning to use your coffee machine.

“Apparently…”

Loud bass suddenly disrupted the morning, booming through the wall to your left. ‘No, not again!’ It was your other neighbour… Jungkook. He kept it down on most days. But he always pulled this on a Saturday morning, and you were sure he was doing it on purpose just to annoy you. You had banged on the wall a few times before. On some days he even turned the music down after your knocking complaint. But today, it was on a whole other level. As if he knew you had been out late and had a mild hangover.

“Ugh, I’ll swear I’ll punch him some day,” you mumbled while pinching your eyebrows in frustration.

Namjoon knew you weren’t kidding. Jungkook had been getting on your nerves ever since he had moved in next door. Before him, there lived a nice and quiet lady who occasionally baked chocolate cookies for the two of you and had always put something nice in front of your door during Christmas time. Now, there was Jungkook. Student, party animal, and the type to listen to music so loud you couldn’t hear your own thoughts.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Namjoon said. “But I also don’t want to have to visit you in prison during Christmas time.” He chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair before chucking down his coffee.

Suddenly, you heard a rustling noise of paper coming from the counter. The book! It was turning its pages on its own. “Holy-“

You stepped in front of the counter, Namjoon following closely, eyes as wide as the moon. “How is that possible?” he whispered while peering over your shoulder again.

A golden light bloomed from the Naughty or Nice book and the two of you just stared at in great awe as sparkles danced around the room. “I’m usually not one to believe in magic,” Namjoon muttered under his breath. “But this is a whole new thing…”

The turning stopped and the pages gently dropped down. Beautiful, curved letters emerged, writing your neighbour’s name. They shone golden in the light. “What is happening?” you hissed while intently watching the book. Namjoon just shrugged his shoulders, speechless.

 Jeon Jungkook: always leaves his trash in front of Mrs. Kim’s apartment door

Underneath was a moving picture, showing Jungkook looking around frantically before putting his trash bag on Mrs. Kim’s doormat and a more detailed description of what was going on. You gasped out in disbelief. “Mrs. Kim is always so nice! How dare he!?”

Namjoon let out an angry huff. “You’ve got a good point but-“ His forehead crinkled in confusion and scepticism. “How does it do that?”

You shrugged, turning the page to see if it had a built-in display. But… there was nothing. It was just a normal page like any other. You turned back to the picture of Jungkook where he had gotten caught in the act. By whom? You didn’t know, could only guess… But no, this was not possible. Santa didn’t exist. But… an idea came to your head.

“Hmm, let’s put this to a test,” you said as the pounding bass continued to boom through the wall. You left the book open, the image of Jungkook engraved in your head, as you turned on your heels and made your way over to the door.

“You actually gonna go over there?” Namjoon trailed behind you, not sure if this was the right thing to do. You definitely had a reason to be angry at Jungkook. But what if this was all just a scam? Well, it felt far too real for that, but Namjoon wasn’t yet ready to call his beliefs into question. This was insane.

You nodded and opened the door. “He has been getting on my nerves for a few weeks now. It’s time to put this to a stop.” You gave him one last determined book before stepping out into the hallway.

Namjoon shook his head in amusement at your vendetta and stopped at your doorstep, leaning against the frame watching you. This was your fight. He wouldn’t get between the frontlines. He knew your anger all too well.

You rapped viciously on the door; quite sure Jungkook wouldn’t hear any of it. And of course, the door didn’t open and the music blared on. So, you resorted to a more effective method. You pressed the button of the bell and held it down. ‘I will have you answer your door even if it takes the whole freaking day.’

It took a few seconds, but you heard the music fading and someone swearing behind the door. It worked. A malicious smirk adorned your lips. You weren’t even nervous, more excited to try the spicy information you had acquired about him. The keys jingled in the keyhole and an annoyed face appeared in the ajar door. “What is it?”

You crossed your arms and put on your most intimidating look. The secret from the book gave you a hell of a confident boost. “Jungkook,” you started, “I’ve told you many many times to quiet it down.”

He rolled his eyes and huffed. “I know. I’m sorry but-“

You cut him off immediately. “No buts. You’re either gonna tone it down from now on or…”

“Or what? You’re trying to threaten me?” He laughed and threw his head back. “That’s new. Well, you’ve got nothing on me, Y/N.”

You squinted your eyes at him, and a smile grew on your face. “You sure?”

Jungkook leaned against the door frame while looking bored. The arrogant look on his face gave you the rest of the encouragement you needed. “Well,” you swirled one of your hair strands around your finger, “I know you’re putting your trash bags on Mrs. Kim’s doormat, so you don’t have to take it out yourself…”

It took a moment for Jungkook to realise what you just said. But when he finally did, his jaw almost dropped down to his knees. “How-“

“The poor woman. I think she deserves to know…” You turned around, feeling the power pulsating in your hands. It was electrifying! You slowly strode over to your apartment.

“Y/N!” Jungkook called out after you, desperation apparent in his voice. “I-“ He dropped his head in defeat, all pride and arrogance had left his body. “If you don’t tell her, I promise I’m gonna tone it down from now on,” he caved in.

“You better,” you just answered and walked away, leaving a speechless Jungkook by his door.

Namjoon snickered as you entered your apartment again, finding the whole situation very amusing. “Have you seen his face? He was so stunned!” Both of you burst out into a fit of laughter, needing a few seconds to calm yourselves down again.

You went back to the still open book. “So it tells the truth…” you stated while tracing the letters with your fingers when they suddenly started to disappear. “Oh! They’re vanishing!”

“Probably because you called him out on that,” Namjoon assumed, looking at the now empty page and then at you. “You know what that means… right?”

You turned it over in your head for a few seconds before you answered Namjoon’s gaze with a mischievous smile. “Let’s discover some secrets this Christmas!”

And so, the two of you went on to discover the hidden secrets and misdeeds of all of your neighbours. The book was never wrong. Not when it told you that Mrs. Kim had a secret fling with Mr. Sung from floor 5 and they were acting like giddy teenagers, that Mrs. Lee let her dog pee on Mrs. Park’s door mat once in a while because they couldn’t stand each other, that Soonyoung from second floor liked to bathe in pure milk occasionally, that Yeji from first floor stole Mr. Chew’s newspaper now and then because he was rude to basically everyone in the building, that Taehyung from fourth floor had sang Christmas carols in the middle of the night for Yeji because he had been out to drink, and many many more.

Some of them you used for your amusement, but most of them were kept between the both of you. You felt closer to Namjoon than ever before. Sharing and keeping secrets about your neighbours bound you together. And Christmas time was a blast, for the both of you! You went out once in a while to the Christmas market again but usually you kept your noses in the Naughty or Nice book, awaiting the next secret to appear. So, Christmas time went by in a happy blur.

After coming home from another one of your merry adventures, you began to realise that this might all be over soon. Actually, Christmas evening was tomorrow already and Namjoon would probably be off to his parents. You didn’t want to stop discovering all these secrets with Namjoon. You had spent a lot of time together; it had been so much fun. And you liked being around him, you knew that. You weren’t ready to admit it, but you had fallen in love with him even more by now. Even after all these years, his way of living and his wisdom still amazed you to no end.

Your thoughts were suddenly disrupted by Namjoon as the both of you reached your apartment door. “Y/N?”

“Yes,” you answered, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Namjoon stood in front of you, nervously wrenching his hands. You had never seen him skittish before. Had something happened?

He took a deep breath before he began to speak. “I was… wondering if you wanted to spent Christmas together?” Namjoon nervously scratched his head. “I-“ he stumbled over his own words for a moment. “I don’t want you to be alone for Christmas. And my parents won’t be at home anyway. So, I was wondering- I mean-“ He rambled on and gestured wildly between the both of you.

To stop him, you gently put your hand on his arm. “Yes,” you answered simply and smiled at him happily, not able to contain your excitement at his request. Your heart was beating in your chest. Spending Christmas with Namjoon was a dream come true.

“I... would love to.” You rubbed your arm awkwardly while not being able to meet his eyes. You were sure he would be able to read your confused feelings for him right there.

He let out a small huff of relief. “Good, good… We can go grocery shopping together tomorrow if you want. So we can pick something to eat that we both like.”

“That sounds like a great idea. Meet in the morning as usual?” you asked, fidgeting with your jacket sleeve.

Namjoon nodded. “I will cook of course. You will be my guest! Also, your cooking skills might be a little insufficient for Christmas…” Mischievousness gleamed in his eyes and you just shook your head, laughing a little.

“I think my cooking skills are fine as they are. It’s not my fault you don’t like the food that I cook!” you exclaimed and hit his shoulder playfully. “Also, your food might taste better than mine. But you’re definitely more chaotic than I am!”

“Okay, okay,” he put his hands up in defeat. “You’ve got a point. I’m still cooking though.” He took off his beanie to run a hand through his hair. He stretched his arms out, motioning for you to give him a goodbye-hug.

Your skin tingled as you obliged. His hands rested on your back as he tugged you close. “Good night, Y/N,” he whispered into your ear, eliciting a shiver running down your back. Gosh, his voice and his soft lips were hovering right next to your ear. It created images in your head you shouldn’t be thinking about in the proximity of your best friend, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You swallowed a big lump in your throat. “Good night to you too,” you whispered back with a hoarse voice, heart still fluttering. He could hear the rapid beating for sure.

Both of you stayed in the hug longer than necessary, thinking about what would become of your adventures once Christmas was over. You were sure the book would disappear, that its owner would come to get it.

You sighed before stepping away from Namjoon, giving him a small smile before pulling out your keys. He went over to his door, a jingling noise reaching your ears. You looked over your shoulder before entering your apartment.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” Namjoon called over in a hushed voice before he disappeared behind his own door. Little did you and he know what effect these last few words would have on you…

Wanton sounds escaped your mouth as your hands grasped fiercely for your sheets. Waves of pleasure rolled through your body as you felt a desperate mouth latching onto your clit, tongue poking out to gratify your little bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled back into your head. It felt… overwhelming.

You couldn’t hold in a lewd moan as the tongue worked magic on you. “Please–“ You couldn’t form a whole sentence without being interrupted by your own moans.

You felt a hand softly caressing your thigh. “Y/N,” a familiar voice reached your ear, making you perk up. Was this… real? You lifted yourself on your elbows to see if you were right with your guess.

Looking up from between your legs was a tousled Namjoon, cheeks red and lips glistening in the light of your fairy lights. He looked like an angel with his skin glowing golden and his hair illuminated.

It felt like a dream come true…

It wasn’t the morning light waking you up nor the loud traffic noise from the street in front of your apartment building. No. What woke you up was the growing wetness between your legs. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, a light film of sweat covered your forehead. Well, that had been… hot.

You had had dreams of Namjoon before. Funny ones, sad ones, even ones where the two of you had been dating. But with things like this, you had only been daydreaming about thus far. It had you all riled up, a little embarrassed, but first and foremost horny.

His head between your legs and his tongue on your clit had felt so real. Oh, what you’d give to actually get to feel that. But you were sure that it would remain something that stayed in your daydreams, when you had to release some friction behind your bedroom doors.

You sighed, pushing the thick blanket to the side. You had to take care of the mess between your legs and there was only one place that always helped: the shower. You had to get this dream out of your head before Namjoon would come over. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to look into his eyes without thinking of the sinful scene that repeated itself again and again in your head.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ you pushed yourself to get out of bed and into the shower. As if you didn’t enjoy this…

As you sat down by the book again with a big cup of fresh coffee, you were actually wondering if you’d ever appear on the list. Or Namjoon. And which secret of yours it would be. So far, it hadn’t spilled any of yours. But it would be merely a matter of time until the pages would reveal what you had kept from one another. Even though there were barely any secrets between the two of you. Only this… this was kind of a major one.

Absent-mindedly, you browsed through the book again. What secret would reveal itself today? Maybe about this dude all up on floor 7 that was always wearing a beanie and sunglasses or that girl from over the street that was walking her dog up and down the street.

Someone was entering the apartment. Namjoon rounded the corner and came into your view. He was also still in his morning clothes, his feet hidden beneath two slippers. Your gazes met shortly, a quick nod exchanged and gentle smiles, before he made a turn.

“And?” He strolled over to the coffee machine, slippers scratching on the floor. “Anything new?” He nodded towards the book sprawled out in front of you.

“I haven’t really checked yet, give me a second.” You concentrated back on the book, pages sliding through your fingers as you looked for a new secret until you found it. You didn’t really pay any attention at first. But then you read your name in big, curved letters. A quiet gasp slipped past your lips.

Checking to see if Namjoon was still making coffee, you hoped he was not aware of your little slip up. He happily worked away, putting coffee beans into the machine, whistling ‘Jingle Bells Rock’ to the puckering sound of the milk frother.

Then, you turned your attention back to the book. When you read Has naughty dreams of their best friend in small letters, your heart sped up and your breathing got ragged. Underneath it was, like it had always been the case before, a more detailed description of what had happened. And a picture of you writhing and moaning beneath the sheets. No, why today?!

The words in front of you blurred as you tried to fathom the consequences if Namjoon came to read this. Your friendship would be over. He would never speak to you again. Hell, what would he think of you?!

You couldn’t let that happen. He was the only thing in your life that kept you sane. That could not all be thrown away. You quickly closed the book, thinking of something to distract Namjoon.

Unfortunately, the loud thump startled Namjoon. He turned around as he heard the sudden noise. He eyed you for a second and then noticed the closed book under your hands. He put down the coffee spoon he was holding. “Uhm… Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Your eyes are like… this wide.” He put a fair distance between his thumb and his pointer finger.

Quickly shaking your head, you scrambled for words. “It’s nothing. I-I thought I…” Yeah, what did you think? It was hard to lie when Namjoon looked at you like that. Your brain couldn’t come up with anything. Instead, you just gulped heavily.

Namjoon’s coffee was now forgotten, its owner too curious about what you had read and seen. He had, of course, noticed your nervous behaviour, growing suspicious of what you were trying to do. His slippers scraped along the floor again as he casually made his way over to you. With his gaze never leaving your face, he followed your every move.

Clambering for the book, you secured it in your arms before Namjoon could reach for it. He couldn’t find out. Not about the dream. Not about the feelings you held for him. But especially not about the dream. The sinful scenes replayed themselves in your head again and you felt your cheeks heating up once more. “There is nothing in there,” you exclaimed, trying to sound as convincing as possible. But there was a crack in your voice. And you could see it in his eyes. He knew.

Scrambling to sit up right on the couch, you shook your head ‘No’, keeping the book tight in your clutches. Over your dead body would it fall into his hands.

“If there is nothing to see, why are you keeping it from me?” He tried to reason with you, stretching out a hand towards the book that you kept clutched in front of your chest, your arms wrapped around it like it was the most precious treasure you had ever possessed.

Namjoon was not one to accept a ‘No’, you knew that. You could spot the determined look in his eyes already. There was nothing that would keep him from finding out. And that had you scared like hell.

You could only stare at him, not having an answer for his very true and logical question. He would always catch you with his well thought-out reasoning. It made you want to tear your hair out every time. Right now, though, you were paralysed by fear.

“Well, you leave me no choice,” he approached you slowly, trying to read you, trying to calculate which escape route you would take. Because whatever stood in that book, had you all jittery and he had to know why. Though he knew that you would never show him voluntarily.

Panic, your brain screamed. And your body scrambled up from the couch, trying to get away from Namjoon. You still clutched the book in front of your chest with both hands.

“No, no, no!” he lunged forward, reaching for you. “You’re not getting away!” He got your left foot before you could escape safely from the couch. Your body fell back onto the cushions, knocking the breath out of your lungs. But you didn’t let go of the book, no matter the pain it would cost.

In his haste to prevent your escape, he knocked down a few wooden reindeers and snowmen from the coffee table. Luckily, there was no glass there. You had told him right in the store that you would not be buying any glass decorations if he would be around. With his clumsiness, he would knock them down within mere seconds. Hell, he had almost dropped something right then and there in the shop. But you both had other things to worry about right now than your Christmas decorations.

“Namjoon,” you shout out anxiously. “Let go of me!” But his grip on you didn’t ease up.

“Not before you show me the freaking book, Y/N!” And he kept his word, his hands desperately trying to seize the book from your tight grip. But you wouldn’t give up so easily. You once more tried to get away from him, grasping for the armrest and pulling like your life depended on it. But he was just too strong, with one hand grabbling for the book and the other holding down your legs.

While fighting him off, you didn’t notice how he’d crawled up your body, getting in nearer reach of the book. And suddenly he was way too close to your face, hovering above you in such an intimate way he never had before.

There had been moments of course. Where he had caged you in a little at your door, when he had leaned in too close, when he had pulled you into his warm embrace… But that had been something different.

Now he laid on top of you, covering your body with his. His chest heaved against yours as he tried to catch his breath from fighting with you. His grey-dyed hair fell in streaks into his eyes and once more his skin glowed in the warm fuzzy light of the fairy lights that framed his head. For a second, the both of you just... stopped.

He looked deeply into your eyes; his pupils overshadowed with an emotion you couldn’t grasp. Your heart beat even faster and your brain felt like it would explode any minute. Your senses were heightened, and you could feel his skin burning on yours. It was… ravishing. Your body couldn’t get enough of it already.

Suddenly, he snapped the book out of your hand, forcing an evil laughter out of his mouth and the moment was gone. He had shamelessly used your messed up state to his advantage and now the book was in his hands.

He scrambled back up from his position on top of you, quickly getting away from you and taking the book with him so you wouldn’t come up with the idea of snatching it back from him. Well, you had resigned already anyway. There was no way you could stop the inevitable from happening now. You said your last goodbye to your friendship. He took one last look at your dishevelled and defeated state before he plopped down on the armchair.

Thump, thump, thump. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears like the drums of that one Christmas song that they always played on the radio, and your stomach took a heavy leap. No, you couldn’t watch this. It was just too much to handle. You grabbed for the plush Santa Namjoon had gotten you as a joke last year, and hid your face in the red fabric of his cloak. You peeked out anxiously, watching Namjoon.

Pages rustled as Namjoon slowly opened the book. His heart beat just as fast as yours as he searched for the right page. Not because he was anxious, but because of his excitement as to what he would get to read on that page. And then he finally found it.

He was not surprised that it was about you. He had actually predicted that. Why else would you react that way if this didn’t reveal something about you? But the content had him gasping out in astonishment.

To actually believe it, he had to read it more than once. It beat all of his wildest dreams. Not only had you caught feelings for him, but he had of course caught feelings for you as well. And quite some time ago too. He had wanted to confess more than once but he hadn’t had the guts. He was very afraid of losing you as well so this came as a very pleasant surprise to him.

Unable to help it, he read the passage once more and let his gaze on the image of you linger a little longer, feeling arousal crawl up his body. He had caught you staring at him here and there, when going for a swim in the summer or when he read a book, when you didn’t think he would notice. He had never given much thought to it though. He would have never guessed that you had thought about him, dreamed about him.

He needed a few to gather himself, to brace himself for what was to come. He couldn’t let this slide just like that now that he knew that you felt the same for him. Now that he knew what you were craving. And he wanted to give you exactly that. All night if you wanted to. He wanted to give you the pleasure that you deserved, see you writhing underneath his fingers, calling out his name so that everyone could hear what he did to you.

A mischievous grin passed over his face. He would take care of that wish of yours, as a Christmas gift. That he promised to himself and gathered all of his confidence for. His heartbeat was going through the roof but he didn’t want you to know, and tried to keep a calm face.

You peeked out once more as he closed the book. You tried to read his face, but there was nothing to work with. Had your friendship been ruined already? Would he just leave and never say a word to you ever again? You expected the worst, already feeling tears prick in your eyes.

Namjoon slowly got up from the armchair and now you were sure he would leave the apartment. You felt embarrassment, shame, and regret overwhelm you. But there was something in you that fought back. Your eyes grew big, you couldn’t just let him go like this. “Namjoon, I-“

But he cut you off mid-sentence. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He shook his head, putting the book down on the table and shoved it over towards you. Your gaze fell back to the image of you, a moaning mess in the bed. You couldn’t handle looking at it and instead gazed up at Namjoon and being met with an expression that you hadn’t expected at all.

He looked like a boy who had gotten the biggest present for Christmas, but there was also something a lot less innocent in his eyes. Holding your gaze, he came back over to the couch and crouched in front of you.

“You’ve been –“ He swallowed visibly, nervousness getting the best of him for a second, before he proceeded with confidence “–a very naughty girl, Y/N, haven’t you?” He cocked an eyebrow while putting both of his hands next to your legs that rested on the edge of the couch.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words. Never had you imagined that Namjoon would speak like this to you. You could not say much, your throat going dry, and just slowly nodded your head.

“Hmm, thought so,” he answered while letting his gaze wander over your form. “Well, what do we do about that? Naughty girls need to be punished, right?” His eyes drifted back to your face, satisfied he took notice of the effect he had on you. How your legs unconsciously rubbed together at his every movement.

With the heat rising from you, he felt drawn to you.

“But I think you’ve been pretty nice this year. I think we leave the punishment for another day and instead–“ He nodded towards the book, referring to the description of your dream under the picture. “– keep working on this.” He turned back towards you. “What do you think, Y/N?”

His words were music in your ears. This was more than you could wish for. You pinched yourself for a second, making sure it wasn’t another dream of yours, that you hadn’t just fallen asleep again in your bed. But it was as real as it could get. Arousal is already pooling in your panties, Namjoon’s deep voice resounding in your head.

By now, he was drawing small, soft circles on the skin of your thigh, patiently waiting for your answer. He wouldn’t do anything about it as long as you hadn’t given your consent. There was still a little voice inside of him that wasn’t sure if you really felt the same. He had no time to think too much about it though.

You cleared your throat, the effect he had on you clear as day. “I’d… love that.” You shyly answered, carefully putting a hand on Namjoon’s cheek. He leaned into your touch immediately, closing his eyes for a second to enjoy the feeling of the gentle action.

He pushed himself up a little, his face hovering in front of yours. You held your breath, excited for what was to come. He was even closer than before. You could feel puffs of his hot breath gently caressing your lips. His eyes kept yours caged, his pupils blown looking like black holes that swallowed you to take you to another dimension.

With his hand moving up to the side of your neck, it gingerly brushed against the skin and he left it at the nape of your neck. His face inched closer, barely any space left between your lips now. Your thumb grazed over his cheek, the skin underneath warm and tender. You could stay like this forever.

“May… may I kiss you?” Namjoon asked, gaze drifting between your shining eyes and your tempting lips. You took his breath away, making him weak in the knees. Why hadn’t he confessed to you sooner? He could have had it all already. You had both missed out on so much. But there was still so much time to make up for it all.

It took all of your willpower to not kiss him right then and there, but to answer his question first. You looked deep into his eyes, “Yes, I beg you to.”

And that was all that was needed for Namjoon to desperately press his lips against yours without hesitating for even a second. Both of you closed your eyes, relishing in the moment of the first kiss shared between the two of you. It was not at all how you had expected it to feel but so much more. Your heart took a leap at his soft lips that moved so lovingly against yours while his thumb stroked your neck, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Namjoon had to take a break to catch his breath, soft laughter escaping his lips. His hand remained at the back of your neck and so did yours on his cheek. But this break didn’t last long because both of you were already hungry for more. Your other hand went into his hair while your mouth landed back on his.

Tugging a little at the strands, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet moan, his lips opening to the kiss. His tongue darted out, tapping against your lower lip and begging for entrance. You let him stew a little until both of your tongues met in a heated battle.

Slowly, Namjoon could feel himself getting hard. Your sweet lips got the best of him and he couldn’t do anything against it when his mind imagined them wrapped around his cock. He could feel it twitch in his pyjama pants, begging for attention. But Namjoon wanted for you to cum first. The outlook of getting to taste you with his tongue between your folds was too promising.

In fact, he didn’t want to wait any longer. As much as he enjoyed making out with you, he wanted to dig into the real fun. He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead softly against yours. This time you had to catch your breath.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?” Namjoon whispered softly, asking for your permission to go on.

You pecked his lips adoringly. “I mean I’ve been dreaming about it.” Both of you chuckled lightly, caressing each other’s skin. “I couldn’t wish for more this Christmas.” You had to stifle a laugh. This was the most interesting Christmas you had ever had. And you loved it.

Namjoon made his way over to your ear with featherlight kisses to nibble on your earlobe before he hushed into your ear, making you shiver at the nickname he used for you, “I want you to tell me if you feel uncomfortable, baby girl.”

“I will,” you breathed back, enjoying the shivers that ran down your spine as Namjoon’s breath tickled your skin. You buzzed with excitement, awaiting his treatment.

“Okay, baby girl,” he moved down from your ear to your neck, nipping at the skin and grazing his teeth over your shoulder a little. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

While your breathing got heavier at these few words already, he gently pushed your thighs apart with his hands, his upper body moving in the space in between to have better access to your neck. His hands wandered over your inner thighs, setting your skin on fire and your blood boiling.

Another quiet moan escaped your mouth. It all felt just too heavenly. And it made Namjoon proud to know he was making you feel good. You deserved it and he was ready to give it to you for the rest of your life if it meant he would hear your sweet little moans.

As he nibbled lightly on your neck, his hands crawled up your shirt, pushing it up over your chest. His mouth unlatched to attach itself again to one of your nipples immediately, drawing sloppy circles around it. While one of his hands held up the shirt, the other sweetly caressed your other breast, brushing against the sensitive bud and making it stand up, aroused.

Throwing your head back, you pushed your upper body into Namjoon’s face. The treatment he blessed you with was paradisiac. If it was up to you, he could do that for the rest of eternity. Still, there was one place where you needed him a lot more…

“Joonie.” His nickname left your lips in a faint, breathless hush. He let out a breathy moan against your nipple. God, now his mind would forever replay this moment and your needy plea whenever someone would call him by this nickname. You were his rise and his fall.

He pecked your nipple one last time before looking up from in between your breasts with hooded eyes. “Yes, baby girl?”

“I need you,” you breathed out, hands still playing with his soft hair.

He cocked his head, one of his eyebrows rising. “Need me how?”

You let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. He knew exactly how, teasing you in a vulnerable moment. With your cheeks heating up, you looked away for a second. This was still very unchartered territory to you.

Feeling one of his hands back on your cheek, he tilted your head to look at him. Eyes full of genuity, he softly told you, “You don’t need to be ashamed when you’re with me. You can freely tell me what you want because I want to make you feel good.” He took your hand and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, softly muttering against your skin, “I want you to feel safe with me.”

It was easy to tell he was being serious and honest. How did you deserve this man? You mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’ to him, feeling more at ease now. And it gave you the confidence to state your desire.

“Joonie… I need your mouth on me and your tongue in me, please,” you begged as you didn’t break off the eye contact. His eyes lit up at your words and he nodded eagerly, pressing one more kiss on your knuckles before he let your hand go.

“If you need something to hold onto, my hair is as good as anything else,” Namjoon told you, winking at you saucily before levelling his head with your clothed core. You held in a breath as he put a featherlight kiss to your inner thigh before nipping on the smooth skin.

His hands wandered over your lower legs towards your waist where they played with the hem of your pyjama shorts, ghosting over your skin. He could smell your wetness and it drove him crazy. He was just as riled up as you were.

He looked up from between your legs, giving you a very similar view as your dream had. You still couldn’t believe that this was all actually happening.

“Baby girl? Could you do me a favor?” His hands slipped back under your shirt for a second, drawing soft circles on your lower back.

You nodded eagerly, willing to do anything as long as he’d continue his exploration down your pants.

“Could you lift your hips for me a little?” He nodded towards your hips. “We need to get these out of the way.”

You obeyed his request, leaning back while lifting up your hips from the couch. All you wanted was his mouth on you.

Namjoon sucked in a breath, preparing himself for the view he was about to get. He had dreamed of that moment many, many times. In the shower when the thoughts of you got over his head, in bed when he had had another vivid dream of you in his arms.

He gently pulled down both your pyjama shorts and your panties, dragging them slowly over your legs to fully enjoy this moment. The clothing items in question hit one of the snowmen in the face as Namjoon carelessly threw them over his shoulder.

You felt the cold air hit your sensitive skin, dragging in a breath as it came in contact with the rough material of the couch. You needed release desperately right now, even little things like these throwing you off. You sank back into the couch a little.

Heartbeat strumming in his ears, Namjoon’s gaze wandered between your legs, laying eyes on your glistening folds for the first time. It was a sight to behold, at least for him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, dragging one hand through his hair while lowering back down between your legs.

“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered while pushing his arms under your legs and pulling them up on his shoulders so he could get better access. You relaxed your upper body on the backrest while shifting your hips up to the edge of the couch so that not only you were comfortable, but it would also be easier for Namjoon.

He gave you one last smile before pressing his head between your legs, his hair pleasantly tickling the inner skin of your thighs. You could feel hot puffs of breath hitting your sensitive folds, making you shiver around him. He hummed lightly, pleased at your reaction.

With his hands gently holding down your thighs, he pressed soft kisses around your pussy, nipping at the skin here and there and biting down softly. He closed his eyes, savoring the last moment before he would get to taste you.

With one hand holding you up, you entangled the other back into his hair, threading through the strands. Your soft gasps filled the air, encouraging Namjoon on.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, dropping a sloppy kiss onto your pussy. Tongue darting out between his lips, he took a long lick along your glistening folds. You tasted so good, he was glad that you would be the first meal of his day besides the coffee.

A strangled moan reached his hair and he opened his eyes to watch you throw your head back in pleasure. You looked like a goddess in the dim light of the morning and the fairy lights, the sinful image burned into his mind forever.

One of his hands reached around your leg to spread your folds for him, your clit coming into view. He latched his mouth onto it, sucking it in like a starved man.

Waves of pleasure rolled over you, feet pressing down on Namjoon’s back. If he kept this up, you would be falling apart in mere minutes. Your hands tugged on his hair, urging him to continue his treatment of your pussy. “Don’t stop,” you breathed out.

He replaced his lips with his thumb, caressing your bundle of nerves while his mouth moved further down. His tongue hungrily lapped at your walls, desperate to catch every taste it could get.

Your hips moved on your own as they pressed themselves against his face willingly, desperate for a release. You could feel your orgasm slowly approaching as Namjoon worked his magic on you.

As his tongue found your entrance, he slowly pushed it inside, before swirling it around a little. You gasped for air as you could feel it massaging your walls, back arching up from the couch. After letting you adjust to the feeling of his tongue inside you, he started darting it in and out at a rapid pace, thumb still fumbling your clit.

His nickname fell from your lips like a waterfall, wonderful music to his ears. You begged him not to stop, promises of you being close spurred him on, going down on you even faster. He could feel his rock-hard cock straining against his pyjama pants, begging to be released. But it was not yet the time.

He needed you to cum all over his tongue first and, hell, he would make sure of that. Feeling your walls contracting around his tongue, he put a little more pressure on your clit, circling and rubbing it gently with his fingers, trying to take you over the edge. You were almost there, he could feel it.

“Joonie, fuck, I am-” The sentence got lost between a heavy mess of moans and whimpers as you finally came with one last stroke around Namjoon’s tongue. You closed your eyes, orgasm blazing through your body in pleasurable waves.

Namjoon lapped up everything he could get, guiding you through your orgasm. As the moans and the whimpers lessened, his mouth, albeit grudgingly, detached from your folds, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh before he looked up about you through his lashes.

As you looked down, you were met with a very vivid image of your last night’s dream as Namjoon’s skin glowed from your juices that were smeared all around his mouth. His hair had fallen into his eyes, not able to hide the playful glint in his eyes. His cheeks were a flushed red, chest heaving for air.

“That was… amazing,” you whispered as you cupped his cheek, thumb caressing the hot skin. You leaned over him, stealing a kiss and tasting yourself on his tongue. “Thank you.”

Namjoon chuckled lightly, taking pride in making you feel so good. He nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your delicate scent. “I think we both actually have someone else to thank.” Both of your gazes fell onto the book that still laid open on the coffee table.

You grinned from ear to ear at his words. “Well, thank you, Santa, I guess then? For helping us idiots?” Both of you couldn’t hold in your laughter at the situation. What a naughty Christmas it had been for sure!

Quietness settled over the two of you for a minute as you enjoyed each other’s company. As Namjoon slowly got up from his kneeling position, you noticed his hard manhood through his pants. Licking your lips, you felt yourself getting wet again. Your hunger for Namjoon had only just awakened.

“How about… a shower?” you proposed, cocking a head at Namjoon. “I think it’s time I’ll take care of you.” Pushing yourself up from the couch, you let your hands roam freely over his upper body.

Namjoon snaked a hand around your waist, pulling you against him. “As if I could say no to that.” You could feel his cock through the soft fabric of his pants pressing against your thigh. Namjoon leaned down, his lips against your ear.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he whispered as he softly started kissing you again under the shining lights of the fairy lights and a mistletoe magically grew down from the ceiling. Santa has his way in fulfilling wishes…

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"But I don't wanna hurt her," He pouted at his wife, readjusting their younger daughter on his shoulder. Hyunjae grips the towel on his shoulder, pulling it to her mouth and gumming on it. Alex shakes her head at her tall and dumbfounded husband.

"You won't hurt her, Joonie. But she's not gonna burp unless you tap her back a little harder." She reminded him, Namjoon sighs. He was already heavy-handed, he figured that would be enough. It was for their older twin, after all. Though he supposed that Hyunjae's tummy was more stubborn than her sister's.

Alex, who was gently bouncing and burping the older twin on her shoulder, coos at Minjee. She was tapping her back quite firmly, and Namjoon worried it was giving Minjee lots of discomfort. He heard her whine and start fussing into Alex's shoulder.

He wasn't sure how he was going to handle this by himself tomorrow. For the first time since the twins have been born, he was watching them completely on his own. Usually Alex was always home to watch and take care of them, she having been working from home (the woman scoffed when he asked her to consider taking a maternity leave). Tomorrow, however, she had to go in to work and that meant leaving the twins alone with him.

Hyunjae whines into her father's shoulder, snuffling her cute little face into it. "I'm sorry, honey. I'll get that burp out of you." He assured, finally listening to his wife's advice and laying down a firmer hand. He tried not to cringe too much at the loud tapping against her back, and was a little startled by her soft belch. Of course, it was cute until a river of spit up spilled from her lips.

"See, I told you it was too hard!" He insisted  in a whisper, thinking he'd done something wrong. Alex kisses her teeth as she lays Minjee on her back in her crib. "Joonie, spit up isn't a bad thing. Not always."

He sighed, of course he knew that. Both his daughters have spat up on him so much he may as well have been the rag itself. He was just super paranoid and nervous about tomorrow. He didn't want to mess anything up, even though he knew what he was doing. He was just clumsy and forgetful sometimes.

Alex lifts Hyunjae from his shoulder, wiping her mouth with the towel. The baby seemed unfazed by the milky substance leaking from her lips, just as Alex suggested. Namjoon sighs, following his wife to Jae's crib and watching her put her down on her back to sleep. He looks down at both his precious girls with a sigh, feeling his wife wrap her chocolate arms around him from behind. She rests her chin on his shoulder, "You'll do fine. Relax." She assured him, smoothing the tension between his shoulder blades.

"I just don't wanna mess anything up." He admits aloud as he looks at their cute little pudgy faces, slipping into a state of peace.

"Joonie, do you know how many mistakes I've made when I was left with them alone for the first time? It's bound to happen, don't panic, stay on our schedule, and you'll be fine. I'm confident you'll do just fine, okay? You should be too."

"Right," he sighed. "You're right."

Alex pulls away, cooing fondly at their girls before pulling Namjoon out of their room. "You're a good Daddy, Joonie. Don't forget it." She assured as she patted his chest, pressing a loving smooch to his cheek.

Namjoon woke up the next morning with the bed empty, Alex having left early that morning before the sun was even peeking over the horizon. He leans up and grabs his glasses, squinting momentarily at their video baby monitor, staring at both cameras over each girl's crib. Minjee had managed to roll onto her stomach and Hyunjae was sucking on her hand. They looked peaceful still.

Namjoon sighs deeply, raking his hair back, it was slowly fading from it's purple shade, and the twins were both quite intrigued by his frequently changing hair color. They still knew who he was, just looked confused by the vibrance of his hair at times. It was the cutest thing.

He sits up, turning the volume up on the monitor as he went to go brush his teeth and possibly get a shower in. The girls usually slept through most of the morning, anyway, and Namjoon knew that if he didn't do what he wanted now he'd never be able to throughout the day. Usually the couple watched the twins together, and one of them would step in so the other could shower or eat or something of the sort. However, Namjoon was reminded of just how alone he was right now.

When he turned the bathroom light on, he was greeted with a cute pink sticky note stuck to their large mirror, on it was Alex's handwriting. You'll do great! With hearts and a smiley face, he chuckles as he brushes his teeth.

For another hour the girls were sleeping, occasionally slipping out of sleep and getting more restless, however they were sleeping soundly. Namjoon was sipping his iced coffee at his desk, their dog Monie lying by his feet.

There was fussing spewing from the speakers of the baby monitor, Namjoon quickly tore his gaze from his computer screen and at the monitor. Just as he predicted, it was Minjee who had woken up first, he could tell by her cries. He adjusts his glasses, slips his slippers back on, and heads to their room. Hyunjae was just starting to fuss as well. Usually when one of them is crying the other is quick to follow.

Namjoon opens their door, pulling the curtains so the light would come in. He hushes the both of them, Hyunjae lifted her head and stared up at him, seeming to calm down a bit now that he was there. Namjoon moved to Minjee's crib first since she was the upset one.

"Morning honey bun, did you sleep well?" He cooed in a gentle voice, one he only ever uses for his girls. His family and members were completely shocked to silence when they first heard him talk like that to Alex's belly when she was pregnant. They continue to tease him for it from time to time. But it calmed the twins down, always has.

He sets Minjee into the crook of one arm, bouncing her soothingly in hopes of getting her to stop crying. He moves to Hyunjae's crib, and with one hand he lowers the bar of the crib and tucks his arm beneath her. The infant sits in his other arm, seemingly content with being held. He felt her pulling his fingers to her mouth. "Hold on, Jae, I need to change your sister." He squats down and sits her down into her bouncer before moving to the changing table. Hyunjae whines, clearly not very happy with being set back down. She always wanted his attention and Namjoon was inclined to believe that it was because he held her so much when they were first born, Jae having been the twin that struggled to stay asleep at first.

Minjee squirms on her back, not very satisfied with the change. Namjoon didn't bother dressing her up again and left her in just her diaper, because he would have to give them both a bath before they were to get dressed for the day. He sits Minjee down on the soft lush carpet, laying her down in her peach boppy pillow, he snaps the ends around her so that she can't move and lifts up his other daughter from the bouncer.

Just as he expected, Hyunjae calmed down a little the moment he picked her up, though he was sure they were both hungry. He lays Jae down on the changing table, and just as he started Minjee's fussing turned into cries. Namjoon, with his hand on Jae's chest, sighs, looking at his older daughter to see her red faced as she lied back in the pillow. She was pretty pissed about being hungry, and her cries were getting contagious again. The rapper hushes them both, though he knew they wouldn't stop crying until they had their bottles in their mouths.

He lies Hyunjae in her own mint green boppy pillow and snaps it around her tummy. Now that the two were beside each other their crying was louder. "I know, girls. You'll eat soon, I promise." He assured them, getting frustrated was only going to get him nowhere.

He makes sure they can't move from their spots and heads to the kitchen to get their milk. Alex had placed two bags of breastmilk in the refrigerator last night, he heated them both up and twisted the nipples on each bottle tightly, shaking them both a little to ensure that there were no hot or cold spots.

"I'm coming girls," he called. Finally entering their room to see them both full-on crying, eyes squeezed shut, faces red, fists balled. He sits in front of them both with his legs crossed, holding the color-coded bottles close to their mouths. He and Alex liked having their things color coded - excluding their clothes - in case one of them was sick and asymptomatic, then she wouldn't infect her sister. They agreed on that when Hyunjae had a high fever once.

He tickles their lips with the silicone nipples, trying to urge them both to drink. He'd prefer if they ate at the same time so it'd be easier to keep them both on track. Minjee is first to start drinking, and a moment later Hyunjae followed. Namjoon felt himself smile as he watched them drink, continuing to hold each bottle up for them.

"Hey, slow down, Minnie. It's not going anywhere." He said lightly, pulling the nipple away for a moment so his child could catch a breath. She furrowed her cute little brows and whined at him, reaching up and pulling his hand back with her tiny ones, keeping her hands pressed to his fingers. Namjoon chuckled at her cute insistence, watching them closely to make sure neither of them started choking, especially Hyunjae, who used to have a habit of inhaling the milk when she was trying to take a breath. The younger coos behind her bottle, kicking her tiny little feet gleefully. Namjoon felt his heart flutter, especially when Minjee responded to her sister with a soft squeal.

Hyunjae's tiny feet wrap around his wrist, and by now Namjoon was unfazed. She had to have been the most flexible 6 month old he'd ever seen. She'd picked her head up for the first time 36 hours after they were born and it startled the nurses at first.

Once they were starting to swallow less, Namjoon pulled their bottles away. He reached for a burping towel in one of their drawers nearby and lifted them both up. He'd come home to see Alex burping them both at once in a peculiar way, but it worked. He lays each infant across his thighs so that her back is exposed and promptly pats each girl's back. He held back his giggles as their little heads bobbed with the steady momentum he had going for each of them.

As usual, Minjee was first to let out a few burps within three firm taps, meanwhile Hyunjae squirmed as she tried moving out of the semi-awkward position. Namjoon sighs, alternating between rubbing and patting her back to try working some air out of her. Minjee stares at Hyunjae curiously, drooling as she went for her Daddy's fingers and brought them to her mouth to suck.

Hyunjae hiccups and whines loudly, which made the father sigh deeply. Minjee was quick to follow suit with her sister's, whining. Namjoon had been trying to burp the poor thing for five minutes and still nothing. The most he'd gotten was a spit bubble that popped just as quickly as it appeared.

He reminds himself not to get frustrated, moving Minjee between his folded legs and lifting up Hyunjae so that she was propped up on his shoulder. At this point she could spit up all over his back and he wouldn't care at all. He just didn't want her being in anymore discomfort than she was already.

Minjee grips his joggers with her tiny fists, baffled that the stretchy fabric didn't reach her mouth when she tried pulling it close. Namjoon sighs, dropping his head, "C'mon, Jae. Just give Daddy one good burp and you'll be done, okay?" He pleaded in English, seeing as Jae was getting too fitful to let any air escape.

After another long minute of firm tapping, finally Namjoon heard her soft belch. He sighed, relieved to have finally heard it at least once. He was getting worried for a moment there. She was prone to spitting up later, but the first belch has proven to provide her the most relief.

"Alright, bath time." Namjoon declared aloud with a sigh, scooping each baby into each arm, he stands to his feet steadily and carries them to his and Alex's master bathroom. In there was the twins' pink bath basin. The couple washed them both at the same time and worked tirelessly to make sure they both got out around the same time. The timing of their bath would affect their schedule for the rest of the day.

Namjoon remembered his parents being baffled when they learned that the twins were washed at the same time. That is, of course, until Namjoon replied by reminding his family that the girls have shared a womb for ten months and that a bath tub was no different. His mother may have scoffed at him but it got his parents to stop the criticisms.

Namjoon sets Hyunjae down on the bathroom floor - which he and his wife always make certain is spotless - and grabs the basin with one hand, bouncing Minjee in his other arm. Hyunjae attempted to follow him to the bathtub, making a huge (and ultimately unproductive) effort to crawl after her father, though he was moving too quick for her. She whines and grips his pants as he filled the basin with water and baby soap. "Daddy's coming, Jae," he sighed, he didn't mind the fact that she was tugging his pants, trying to pull herself up, which she was definitely not capable of yet.

Namjoon finally sets his older daughter into the basin first, and held her in place as he leaned down and scooped up the younger. Luckily for him (not), that spit up that he predicted would come made its appearance, traveling down her chin after she let out a cute hiccup. He could only sigh as it oozed down his arm, relieved that she wasn't wearing anything that could stain or get dirty aside from her diaper. Namjoon used tissue to wipe it away and proceeded with their bath.

Hyunjae kicked her little legs as he removed her diaper and sat her beside of Minjee, who had busied herself kicking the minimal amount of water she was sitting in and making more bubbles appear. Jae squeals at the sight of the bubbles and bounces eagerly as she tries to splash the water. Alex and Namjoon have both been drenched enough by the twins' splashing to learn that they really didn't need much water for their bath at all.

He pulls a rubber hippo from their basket of bath toys and squeezes it to grab their attention. Whichever twin would reach for it first would be the first to be bathed. Hyunjae grabs for it before her sister does, so Namjoon started with her. He was careful but thorough, Minjee leaned over toward the basket of toys, clearly wanting something from it. Namjoon pulled a dolphin from the basket and her dimpled smile showed as he made it squeak.

"Please don't eat the toys, babies. I know they're cute and colorful but they're not food." He sighed as they both brought their toys to their mouths. Once Hyunjae's hair was rinsed, Namjoon pulled Minjee towards him and started on her. The twins gurgle at each other, somehow coming to an agreement to slam their toys repeatedly against the bottom of the basin, of course making water splash everywhere. Namjoon was convinced it was their favorite thing about bath time.

At last, he got up from where he was knelt beside the bathtub and reached for their bath towels. "Alright, let's get you two dressed, yeah?" He cooed, tickling their wet pudgy tummies. They both giggle, their adorable dimples showing. Alex used to cry with glee just seeing their gaping smiles when they giggle. She prayed that the girls would inherit his dimples.

The father drained the basin and draped both of his daughters with her own bath towel, which was, of course, color coordinated. He was gentle as he patted them dry, commuting them both back to their nursery and laying them down on top of their towels beside each other. He cooed at their cute faces, remembering to use the oils, lotions, and powders that Alex had bought for them. He had forgotten about the products once and she was pissed at him, claiming their skin would dry out quickly and that they'd have scales. Namjoon was just sure that she wanted them to have healthy, smooth skin when they're older. Nonetheless, he vowed to his wife that he'd never forget again.

He dressed Hyunjae first, and Minjee fussed quite the bit as she watched. She fitfully cried as her father dressed her sister, who was also starting to cry. The girls knew that when one of them was doing something, so should the other. The rapper could only hush them both as he did his best to work quickly, but he didn't want to have his daughter's arm go through a leg hole, so he had to concentrate. Not to mention how squirmy the both of them were.

Finally, when he had Hyunjae dressed, he grabbed her binky and pushed it between her lips, holding it there until it started to bob on its own. He clips it in place, scooping up her squirmy, naked sister to dress.

The both of them were content once they were dressed and sucking their pacifiers. Namjoon huffs, placing his hands on his hips as he looks down at them. He looks at the clock on their wall, seeing only an hour and a half had gone by since they first woke up. At least he was a couple minutes ahead of schedule, which was a first.

He adjusted the glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, having forgotten they were on entirely. "Alright, ready for play time?" Namjoon cooed, both his daughters turning to look up at him when he said it.

He brought them to his office, where he liked to keep a play pen for them while he worked. Namjoon had at least a half hour to spare before he really had anything to do aside from work, though he was ahead on everything already. He set his girls in their pen, hearing them babbling to each other behind their pacifiers as though they were in a deep conversation. He smiles at them, having a feeling that Alex would be proud of him, at least a little bit.

I looked around, noting the countless empty seats on the train before returning my gaze to the man. He was handsome, with ashy blond hair swept away from his face save for a single strand gracing his forehead, tortoiseshell wire-rimmed glasses, and a dimple so deep the craters of the moon would get imposter syndrome.

“I- uh- no?”

It came out more like a question than I wanted it to, but I was rather confused as to why this gorgeous man would want to sit with someone when nearly the whole train was empty. I brushed it off, figuring there was no harm in having some company, especially from someone as friendly-looking as this man. Besides, anything was better than what I’d been previously doing, staring aimlessly out the window, which was distracting me from doing what I was supposed to be doing, writing my manuscript. My gaze drifted to my open laptop in front of me, the blank screen reflecting my tired face back at me and the cursor blinking tauntingly. Writer’s block was a bitch.

“Are these all yours?” the stranger asked, gesturing to the numerous empty coffee cups scattered across the table.

I startled at his voice, not having realized he’d even taken a seat, though I supposed I’d indirectly invited him to. A blush heated my cheeks once I became aware of exactly how much coffee I had consumed in the last five hours, and this stranger was calling me out on it.

“I- um- Tons of work to do. Need a lot of caffeine.” God, why couldn’t I form complete sentences around this man?

He nodded and pulled out a laptop of his own, putting in a pair of wireless earbuds, which I took as a way to end the conversation. Reluctantly (but simultaneously relieved I would no longer be making a fool out of myself in front of this handsome man), I dragged my attention back to the blank document in front of me. With a heavy sigh, I began to type away to what I hoped would amount to my next book. Whether it was staring out the window or the new company that helped with the writer’s block, I soon found myself getting into a groove of writing and had written several pages by the time my attention was pulled from the screen by the man standing up.

“I’m gonna get some coffee, do you want some? Or should I not enable what looks like a pretty serious caffeine addiction?”

I laughed, reaching for my wallet. “I’ll have an herbal tea, thanks. Any kind is fine.”

He reached forward, gently resting his hand on top of mine to stop me from opening my wallet. I don’t believe in fairy tales where sparks fly when the main characters first touch, but I swear my brain short circuited from the small amount of contact.

“Don’t worry, it’s on me,” he said with a smile, that damn dimple disarming me enough to cause me to nod slowly before I’d fully processed what just happened. It was only when he was sauntering out of the car that I realized I’d gone against everything I believed in and let a stranger pay for my drink.

Soon enough a steaming cup of tea that smelled like apples and cinnamon and fall was placed in front of me and I immediately wrapped my hands around it, desperate to regain the warmth I’d lost in my fingertips after drawing the frowny face on the window.

“Thanks,” I said, looking up as the stranger sat down across from me. “I realized after you left that I probably shouldn’t accept drinks from random strangers.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made me think he was no stranger to laughter, and he reached his hand across the table for a handshake.

“I’m Namjoon, and I promise I haven’t done anything to your drink.”

Blushing, I took his hand and shook it. “I’m Y/N.”

I took a sip of my tea, satisfied that I was no longer accepting a drink from a stranger, and immediately regretted it as I burnt the tip of my tongue. Namjoon must have seen the flash of pain on my face as a result of my impatience, since it looked like he was trying to hide a smile behind his fist. It would have worked, had his dimple and the clear mirth in his eyes not given him away.

“What are you writing?'' he asked, taking the lid off of his drink and blowing on it so as not to make the same mistake I did.

“A novel,” I answered, doing the same.

“What kind of novel?”

“A romance.”

I cursed myself internally for still not being able to put together a coherent sentence. Poor Namjoon probably wanted company on this long train ride, and here I was giving him the bare minimum amount of words in my replies.

“What is it about?”

Even though I could still barely think straight around this man, talking about the book I'd put so much time and effort into loosened me up. I tried not to get distracted by the fascinated look on his face as I explained.

“It’s about two people who are both new to a small town and try to navigate life in a new town and small town gossip, while also falling for each other.”

“Sounds interesting. How did they meet?”

“See, that’s the part I’m stuck on. I've got a pretty solid plan for how they gradually fall in love but I have no idea how they should meet. I want a good meet-cute but everything seems too cliché.”

“What’s a meet-cute?” he asked, finally taking a sip of his coffee and causing his glasses to fog up.

My eyes widened, excited to explain the concept and shocked that he didn’t already know what it was.

“It’s like when two strangers meet for the first time and immediately hit it off, even if the circumstances of their meeting are odd or even embarrassing. A good meet-cute sets the scene for the romance in the rest of the novel.”

He nodded, leaning forward with his chin resting on his hands, looking at me intently.

“I see, so you’re looking for a way to have them meet naturally but in a way that would make it clear that they’ve caught each other’s attention.”

“Yes, exactly!” I exclaim, glad that he was catching on quickly. “A lot of books have short and sweet meet-cutes like meeting at a coffee shop or a bookstore but I always find those interactions to be too short to justify a lasting connection.”

He nods as if considering something.

“Makes sense. Why don’t you have them meet on a train?”

“Sorry, what?” I asked, the suddenness of the question causing me to choke on my tea.

Namjoon looked slightly amused as he handed me a napkin to cough into, continuing to pitch me his idea.

“You said they’re new to town, right? What if they meet on the train ride in? It’s the perfect opportunity to meet a cute stranger and take a liking to them enough that it sets up the romance in the rest of the novel.”

“I guess you’re right,” I manage to croak out, clearing my throat into the napkin.

“Think about it,” he says, starting to wave his hands animatedly. “They would have a hell of a story to tell their kids and grandkids too. ‘Oh yeah, we met on a train and immediately hit it off. It was very romantic.’ Much better than a dating app or at university, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is,” I answered, eyeing him curiously. Somehow I gathered the confidence to lean forward and look into his deep brown eyes. “Is this a meet-cute then?”

“That depends,” he asked, his cheeks heating up as he tentatively reached for my hand. I let him take it, savouring the warmth.

“On what?”

“Have we adequately set the scene for the romance to continue?”

“I think we have.”

“Good. Me too.”

Masterlist.

Taglist (let me know if you wanna be added!): @felixtok

After the christening, members of the court were invited for a meal and to meet the infant princess, to meet you. The banquet was held in the ballroom, a long table adorned with wreaths and favours for each of the guests. You were placed in a cradle close to the king. A place where all could visit to pay their respects and your father could protect you. Once his family had finished their meal, they visited your crib, offering a gift and paying their respects to the royals. Namjoon tugged at his mother’s dress until she lifted him to get a better look. As he peered into the cot, he was shocked to find you staring straight up at him. Other babies he met always seemed to be asleep, but not you.

He wriggled in the duchess’ arms until he could reach you. The room fell silent as he extended his chubby hand to poke at your own curled fist. No one outside of your family, the priest, and the doctors had dared to touch you yet. They waited with bated breath for a response from the king. Little Namjoon paid no attention to the eyes on him, too focused on you. Your small fingers wrapped their way around his. The king had cooed at the event, closely followed by everyone else in the room.

…

The next time you met Namjoon properly you were four, he was almost six. You’d been allowed outside to play with the other children of the court. The problem was, many of them were considerably older than you. None of the ‘big’ girls wanted to play silly little girl games. So you sat alone and watched them as they made daisy chains together. You tried to copy them from afar, but your pudgy little fingers wouldn’t cooperate, ripping through the stems instead of creating the holes needed to thread more flowers.

Namjoon had been following around the gardener when he saw you. Decapitated daisies lay by the dozen around your feet. He couldn’t bear to see the carnage continue, so he took pity on you. He picked a flower with a thick enough stem and passed it too you. To say you were thrilled was an understatement. You’d taken the flower excitedly and threaded another through before giving it back to him to make another hole. The two of you had then spent the next half hour together, him piercing stems and you threading them into long chains. He laughed as you concentrated. Your tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you focused on the task at hand.

When you decided the chain was long enough, he made one last hole so you could form a circle. With the ring complete you stepped on your tippy toes to place it over his head, nodding in approval as the string draped from his neck to his knees. He looked down, assessing his new accessory and beamed a smile back at you. The first time you ever saw his dimples. Immediately you were compelled to poke them. He didn’t stop you as you reached for his cheek, instead laughing so they deepened.

You weren’t like any princess he had seen in his books. Those princesses were graceful and dainty. You were more like a bull in a china shop. Honestly, he was relived. All the other boys were in high school, they had no time for him. And the girls all wanted him to play ‘prince charming’. It was fun playing with you. You’d run around the gardens with him, dig in the mud, and exchange the stories your parents read at bedtimes.

…

Age six brought the loss of your first tooth. The tooth had been placed in a tissue under your pillow and the next morning it had become money! You had been so excited to tell Namjoon all about it, only for him to burst your bubble.

“The tooth fairy isn’t real Y/N” he’d stated matter-of-factly, his nose turned up at the notion.

“Is too!” you’d cried back petulantly. You’d seen her with your own two eyes. Well you’d been half asleep, and it was dark… but you were certain it had been her.

“Is not!” the eight-year-old boy retorted. “I’ll prove it! Next time you lose a tooth don’t tell nobody. She won’t come I promise.” He’d sounded so smug. You wanted to hit him. instead you set out to prove him wrong. You kept wiggling your teeth hoping one would come loose. It’s around a month later you get your chance. The tooth came out in the apple you were eating for dessert. Carefully you hid the bone from your nanny so she couldn’t tell your parents. After you were tucked in that night, you slid the bone under your pillow and waited for the fairy to visit you. But she never came.

The next day when you saw Namjoon, you were devastated, but still not ready to concede the fairy’s existence.  

“Maybe I upset her?” you sniffle at him “You’re not supposed to wait for her, I broke the rules! That’s why she didn’t come! What if she never visits me again?” tears fell freely down your face. Namjoon had never felt so guilty, not even when he lied about breaking his mom’s favourite vase. He had watched you cry for a moment, unsure of where to go from here. He had made the heir to the throne cry… could he get locked away for this?

“It’s my fault Y/N! I was just jealous” he quickly tried to formulate a believable story in his head as you wiped away your tears.

“Jealous?” your voice was small, a little hope filtering through the sadness.

“Yeah… jealous. See I… uh… I’ve nearly got all my big teeth now, so she doesn’t come to see me as often. I bet if you put the tooth under your pillow tonight and go to sleep, she will come!” your face had lit up at the news. Immediately after he’d said goodbye to you, he went and told the gardener about your tooth. When you woke up the next day, a shiny coin was in the tooth’s place. You’d held the discovery over Namjoon for the few months, but he didn’t care. He was just happy you were happy and that he didn’t get into trouble.

…

At age eight you were definitely not shaping up to be the perfect princess. In fact you were quite the rambunctious little tot. Your mother became more and more exasperated every time you turned up with a new grass stain on one of your best gowns. She begged you to spend more time having tea parties with the girls instead. It was never your fault though. The tea parties were dull and Namjoon would challenge you to a race through the maze, or to see who could climb highest in the trees. You couldn’t just let him win.

If you weren’t running around or rolling down hills, you were lying together staring up at the clouds from the middle of the topless bandstand in the middle of the maze. The beautiful white stone structure had quickly become ‘your’ spot. None of the other palace kids showed any interest in exploring the maze, and the adults always seemed to get lost trying to find you. Hours were wasted with the two of you just staring up at the sky, sometimes talking about your day, sometimes in complete silence. It was just nice to be with him.

On calmer days he would read aloud from a book while you made daisy chains. You could do it by yourself now. Much more in control of your own limbs than you used to be. The summer before Namjoon was due to go to high school you made a chain so long you could coil it around the entire base of the bandstand.

…

After he started high school, you saw a lot less of Namjoon. He wasn’t able to come around as often between his homework and extracurriculars. Instead you begged your father to let you attend his football games. Each Saturday you went in disguise with your nanny to watch Namjoon play, regardless of the weather. You weren’t even sure you enjoyed the sport, but it was worth it for the smile he flashed every time he found you amongst the onlookers.

Each week you wore a different disguise wanting to make it difficult for him, but each time he found you without fail.

You melted every time, knowing that smile was just for you. Originally you told yourself it was just a swell of pride, watching your best friend play. Eventually you had to admit to yourself that maybe it was more than that, but you swallowed the crush. After all he was in high school, he wouldn’t want a silly little girl like you anyway.

…

When you turned fourteen it was time to for you to be presented to the kingdom. A ball was thrown in your honour, the first of many you would attend in your lifetime. The thought of being alone at any big event made you feel queasy. The fact that this one was going to be focused entirely on you made you ill for an entire week before. Namjoon had spent the week trying to reassure you that everything was going to be fine. Luckily, your birthday had been during a break from school so he could spend the time with you. He grew more and more concerned as he watched your health deteriorating to a point where you could barely keep water down. Eventually he came to a decision and asked for an audience with the king himself.

He’d dressed in his best suit making sure not a single hair was out of place. He marched straight up to the double doors to your father’s study and took a deep breath, more than prepared to argue his point. Your father had welcomed Namjoon into his office with open arms. He’d always been fond of the boy, especially knowing the weak spot you held for him. Regardless of the warm reception and his original confidence in his idea, Namjoon felt the nerves begin to overtake him. He wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his suit jacket, breath coming out shakily.

“Can I escort Y/N to her first ball.” The king had been taken aback by Joon’s sudden outburst, his face showing obvious surprise at the young man’s bold request. Namjoon mistook the expression for a dismissal and so, in a much less eloquent way than he had practiced in is shower, he fought his case.

“Y/N has been ill all week; she doesn’t think she can do this alone…. And I just thought… maybe she would be okay if I were with her. I know I’m only a duke, but I just want her to be okay and I really think this would be good and it’ll only be for this one ball and…” Namjoon’s rambling came to an end when your father raised his hand. Namjoon clenched his fists as he waited for an answer.

Your father had taken his time to consider Namjoon’s proposal, enjoying the way the boy had squirmed under his gaze. To this day, Namjoon refers to it as the second most terrifying day of his life. Eventually a smile had broken over the kings face, no longer able to contain his laugh. He clapped Namjoon on the shoulder and sent him off with his blessing.

On his way to meet you in the gardens afterwards, he had gathered the prettiest daisies he could find. He found you lying on the floor of the bandstand, looking a little too pale as you stared up at the clouds floating past. He cleared his throat on arrival, making you look at him with the offer of a weak smile, not really taking him in.

When he didn’t take his place beside you, you’d sat up to look at him properly. That’s when you saw the pinstripe suit and quaffed hair. It looked so unlike him you couldn’t help but giggle. Normally Joon was a t-shirt and basketball shorts kind of guy. He had rolled his eyes and extended his hand to help you up. You took it, every question in your mind had gotten stuck in your throat when his eyes had met yours. You never did get over that silly little crush. He didn’t release your hand like you expected him too. Instead he placed the bouquet into your free hand and asked you the question you’d been dreaming he would.

“Just to protect you of course… I don’t like when you aren’t well” He’d broken the moment by ruffling your hair, a sure sign he was doing this as a favour.

He took you to every ball you attended after that one.

…

The summer you turned seventeen was the summer before Namjoon left for university. You snuck out passed your guards in the night to see him. There was a very convenient secret passageway that led from your room to the gardens. You would meet him at the bandstand and talk until the sun came over the horizon. The lack of sleep had been worth it to spend those last fleeting days with him. You talked about anything and nothing, just like you would in the daytime, but this felt far more intimate.

The first time you convinced him to meet you after curfew his eyes flitted everywhere. Always nervous someone would find the two of you there and assume the worst. You on the other hand were just desperate to soak up as much of your friends company as you could before he left.

Over time he’d become more comfortable with the routine. In fact he had been certain that your sneaking around hadn’t even been that sneaky, your parents were just allowing you to rebel like this. Eventually he got used to walking you back to the entrance of the secret passageway, spending an extra few moments together.

His final night in town had been an emotional one. You’d sat side by side, your head on his shoulder staring up at the stars in complete silence for a long time. A tear fell down your cheek every time you thought about him leaving you. He’d wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close just as a shooting star arched across the sky. You immediately had a wish in mind. Eyes scrunched tight and fists clenched, you wished as hard as you could that he would stay, or at least that he’d come back fast. But unfortunately, he had to go, and morning came around far too fast.

You’d dragged your feet as he walked you back to the passageway. Shoulders bumping together, fingers brushing, glances stolen when you were sure the other wasn’t looking. The wall that concealed your entrance had come into view far too quickly. You’d sighed as you reluctantly pressed in the stones that would open the doorway, far from ready to say goodbye to the boy you’d grown up with. You hugged him goodbye, tears streaming freely down your face. You’d released him and turned to walk back into the castle, but as you’d taken that first step, he grabbed you sharply by the wrist and pulled you back to him.

His lips were so soft as they met yours. The surprise had knocked all the air out of your lungs forcing you to pull back sooner than you would’ve liked. He wiped the tears from your face and pulled you back to him, kissing you once more. And then he was gone.

…

The following autumn had dragged by. With no Namjoon, you had been forced to invest in the idle gossip of other members of the court, actually pay attention in your elocution lessons, and, perhaps worst of all, prepare for your first ball without your trusty escort. Every time you thought of Namjoon your lips tingled at the memory of your first kiss. You were devastated when his parents had told you he wouldn’t be able to make it home for the Christmas ball.

When the time came, you’d prepared for the ball like you had every other. A team came to pinch, primp, and style you to within an inch of yourself. This year they’d decided on a snow theme. Your pale blue ballgown had been the most beautiful one you’d worn at that point. It glittered like freshly fallen snow in the winter sun. The skirt poofed out around your waist and fell just above your feet so people could still see the matching shoes with little snowflakes. It was the best you thought you’d ever looked, and it broke your heart to know Namjoon wasn’t going to see you like that.

When the time came, you’d taken a breath and readied yourself for a night of refusing advances of handsy nobles, and questions you weren’t prepared to answer about the whereabouts of your usual date. You took a hold of the banister and began your entrance into the grand ballroom, desperately trying to keep your eyes forward and not trip at the same time. Whilst concentrating on not falling flat on your face, you had failed to notice one crucial detail about the room before you, until he took your hand and brought it to his lips. Namjoon had made it home after all.

You spent the entire event together. For every slow dance you were in the middle of the floor swaying together as he whispered sweet things in your ear. Time not on the dance floor had been spent laughing and catching up. The night came to an end with you escaping to your spot.

He’d picked a daisy and threaded it into your hair, trailing his fingers down the side of your face when he was finished. You’d boldly stepped even closer to him, lips inches away from his, daring him to repeat the night he left, and he’d gladly taken the opportunity.  He’d pulled you impossibly closer, lifting you on to your tiptoes and kissed you like a man starved. You’d wrapped your arms around his waist. Desperately trying to make up for lost time. Eventually you came to rest, foreheads resting against one another, breathing hard.

“Y/N I love you.” It was the first time he admitted it out loud, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. In fact he said it at least twenty more times that night.

“I love you too Joon.” You kissed him one more time before taking his hand and breaking into a sprint. You came to a stop at the passageway to your chambers. “Come in with me?” You’d asked, flashing him doe eyes he had never been able to resist.

“Are you sure?” He brushed a stray hair behind your ear and met your eyes, you’d never seen him look so serious.

“Well I can’t get out of this dress alone.” You’d tried to joke. When his expression didn’t change you gulped down any reservations and nodded. “I’m completely sure.” He’d swept you into his arms and carried you through your room laying you down on your bed. His coat and tie had been immediately discarded across the room. You’d sat up to get a better look as he undid the buttons on his white dress shirt, biting your lip at the thought of running your hands across his bare skin. He stopped undressing himself to look back at you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He embraced you, fingers finding the zipper at the back of your gown. You allowed the sleeves to fall down your arms, exposing your chest to him. Immediately his lips had gone to trail along your collarbones. He mumbled ‘I love you’ as he went. Each kiss punctuated by the words you’d longed to hear from him. You pushed his shirt down his shoulders, letting your hands linger on his biceps, rubbing little circles on the perfect skin.

“Joon?” he answers you with a hmm. “Is this real?” he pulled away from you to meet your eyes.

“I hope so.” He responded before kissing you deeply again. When you’d gotten the chance you’d stood up and allowed the dress to puddle around your feet.  He reached out to pull you in again by your newly expose waist, positioning you underneath him. He’d kissed down your stomach until he reached the top of your underwear.

“Maybe we should stop here?” he’d said, pulling away from you, “I want our first time to be something amazing.” You’d nodded, a little reluctant, but you’d waited this long for him, you could wait a little longer. Instead you’d settled into your bed together, cuddled close in just your underwear, praying that you didn’t wake up from this dream.

…

Everything was perfect, you stayed together throughout both his and your university experience. The whole kingdom knew of their childhood sweethearts. The duke and the princess destined to be together. The night of your graduation, a large ball had been put together in your honour and while no one dared say it aloud, everyone was certain there were hidden intentions behind the congratulatory event. The feeling was in the air, the whole of the kingdom whispered rumours of how the young duke was going to propose. They wondered how it would be announced, if he was going to ask you in the middle of all the guest, or if he’d elect to be more private about it.

But then the day of the ball arrived and Namjoon wasn’t waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs like he usually would. You assumed he would be waiting somewhere to surprise you, but the whispers started as soon as you’d turned up to the ballroom unescorted. No one had seen him. The entire night people had congratulated you on graduating, but your heart wasn’t even your replies. Instead you’d spent the night searching every face in the room for a sign of your missing lover.

As the night wore on it became clear that he had no intentions of attending. You’d put every ounce of your princess training to good use that night as you tried not to cry, humiliated in front of everyone you had ever known.

Awaiting you in your bedroom at the end of the night was a bouquet of pink daisies and a simple note that said ‘I’m so sorry’

You wouldn’t see Namjoon again for two years…

Part 2

Masterlist

Losing Virginity drabble