Love Confessions

Love Confessions

Love Confessions 💕

Drunken Love Confessions

Love Confession - Screaming at each other

Unwilling goodbye + love confession prompts

Ways to say "I love you"

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destination seoul

↳ about current wip

contemporary ya 

POC representation !! 

imagine going to korea for your aunt’s wedding... and falling in love with your fake boyfriend along the way

↳ tropes/themes

fake dating

location in korea 

guy falls first

summer romance

chaotic family vibes

blind dates 

↳ excerpt 

But then he had to go and mess with my heart. Had to listen to everything I say, with his endless optimism and teasing that accompanied him. One moment, I was so sure that I’d never fall for him, and the next moment, I find out that I do.

How I got from that point to this point, I still can’t figure out. 

YEEESSS

I think you polish it until what you really have to say is ready, you know? Like until you gave it your all. No works of art are ever perfect, there's always something that can be corrected in one's eyes, but it might be perfect in another.

buT omGGG you're so right

fuck perfection because that's an illusion

WRITERLY WOES RIGHT THERE,, seriously I think I'm writing a great scene and I pull some cringy romance line that I'm just like: this is for future me to figure out

the writing cycle

being an author goes like this: you think about a book idea you get excited and you outline or pants it you write the idea but get imposter syndrome halfway you push through with coffee and tea and hope for the best you finish the book and you celebrate but then you realize that there’s this thing called… editing

im reading counting down with you by tashie bhuiyan

and like

ACE IS SO PERFECT WHAT THE HELL LIKE I KNEW HE WAS GONNA BE PERFECT IT SAID IT IN THE DESCRIPTION BUT WHAT THE FUCK

WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO BE MY DREAM GUY AND BE FICTIONAL

MY POOR HEART CANT TAKE IT

how can i love the heartbreak, you're the one i love [kim namjoon]

drabble count: 3

join my tag list for future works masterlist of all works previous | next drabble

summary: The loss follows you everywhere you go. The loss of your sister. Of music.

In the whirlwind of life, somehow, he approaches you. Kim Namjoon, with no attention to leave. You'd never thought you'd fall in love again, yet you do. And it consumes you.

pairing: bts namjoon x reader

chapter warnings: angst, swearing, mention of loss and suicide, fluff

a/n: hello hello! this is a heavy one, and i highly recommend listening to how can i love the heartbreak, you're the one i love by akmu, as it is inspired by that song (linked below). this is basically a series of events of how one came to fall in love with namjoon, almost like scenes of a music video.

i've always wanted to write a drabble based on namjoon for a while, and he's such a sweetheart, that I had to write one that was just... pure, in a way? I don't know how to explain it, but I might've almost shed a tear writing this :]

i love writing drabbles based on prompts, so if you want one, please don't hesitate to ask/submit on my page. thanks so much for reading! support is also greatly appreciated, for my crying college loans <33

Your relationship with Namjoon was meant to end before it even started. Or, so you thought.

“Oh, hey, you—fuck,” he tumbles out when you stumble into him. All you were trying to do was catch what he was working on. Of course, while tip-toeing over to him, you tripped over a wire and somehow landed in his chair.

“It’s fine.” You laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Thank God you weren’t a blusher, you think, until his large hands wrap around your waist. His gaze is just as intense, too, mouth parted as he gazes down at you like you hung the stars and the moon. The wave of warmth hits you immediately, with such force that you can’t breathe. Your heart squeezes when his jaw clenches, as if trying to restrain himself from pouncing on you.

“What are you doing?” You ask instead.

“I was going through the playlist you sent me and listening to them. Maybe if we choose one that resonates you the most, your musical skills will come back.” As if to make a point, he scrolls through the 23 songs you carefully organized, ensuring that one defined each year of your life perfectly.

You snort. “I’ve been listening to this playlist nonstop for the past week. I think it would have come back by now if it wanted to.”

“Maybe.” Namjoon frowns, and you can’t help but like that he’s worried about you.

“You have a favorite so far?” You make a bold move—lean your head against his chest. The heartbeat is steady, like a background noise you don’t usually notice. But it’s a reminder. Of warmth. Of existence.

“All of them,” he replies immediately. “They all define you, so how can I not?”

In that moment, it comes back. In your mind, you hear the faintest melodies of You are my everything. Whispering in your ear, Namjoon repeats your name.

And you?

Heart full of love, you kiss him. You cup his cheeks and let his mouth graze yours. Soon enough, he’s pulling you closer so that you’re pressed against him, no inch of space between you two. I love you, his mouth says, moving softly against yours. I love you, his fingers say, threading through your hair, caressing your cheeks, moving you impossibly closer. I love you, his eyes say, bearing into yours.

Just like that, the music grows louder, and time rewinds.

“Do you not know who I am?” The man in front of you looks confused, and glances around, most likely searching for his six other members. Him—currently questioning you—is the tallest out of all of them, and sunglasses frame his face. Hair cropped short, hands in his pants, Namjoon Kim looks impossibly handsome. And impossibly unattainable. As the leader of BTS, you know he has responsibilities and rules he must follow. As do you.

“No,” you lie, and bow your head. Why did your company have to book a first-class fight, and why did BTS board a plane that wasn’t private? There’s never a shortage of them, especially for world class idols. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” his fingers go around your waist, and his eyebrows are knit together. “You look familiar.”

You look familiar. The words you hate the most. You pull away, making sure that your hair covers most of your face. The last thing you want is someone who knew your sister to analyze you, then offer you their condolences. It’s the same words every time, and though you understand that they have nothing else to say, they don’t understand that you have nothing to say, too. Because what are you going to do? Launch into her life story, like they’ll want to stick around?

Better to be alone than be the party pooper.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Then add, “Goodbye.”

Except it’s not a goodbye. Because you see him, in front of your face, outside in the hallway, a month later. His face isn’t covered at all, the sharp eyes boring into yours, yet conveying so much softness. And your head starts to run with questions about the paparazzi, who crowded your building less than a year ago, and all the fans who would start dating rumors.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss, and pull him inside. “You don’t have the luxury to wander around Seoul like this.”

“So you do know who I am.”

Is that all he got from the two sentences you uttered? You stare at him like he’s an idiot, and may—just maybe—his IQ is a fluke in terms of social conversations. He could be more textbook smart than street smart, after all.

“I’m not stupid,” he continues, like he could read your mind. Namjoon’s eyebrows raise like he’s challenging you to say otherwise. His head tilts, revealing the strands of his ashy hair that sticks out from the hoodie that covers his head. “I came because I’m on a mission.”

“Oh, yeah?” The sarcasm comes back. “What mission?”

He’s quiet for a minute, before saying under his breath, so low you almost can’t hear it, “Your sister sent me.”

That knocks the wind out of you, and you stagger back. Which says a lot, because you’re never one for dramatics. Mei was the one who liked to be the drama queen in your family, and you would always shake your head and smile at her antics.

“She’s dead,” you say tightly. “I imagine you were at her funeral.”

“I was,” he clears his throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry—”

“I’m sure you said the same thing a year ago.” Everything is strained. Your smile. Your stiff shoulders. Your fingers—bending them feels so robotic you’re surprised they’re not creaking—grab the single polaroid he produces from his pocket. Of her and the group at Music Bank. Beaming. Her arm is slung over Namjoon’s shoulder. You can see the intention in her smile: I have to show this to my little sister! She’s going to be so jealous. And the fact that you can still read her so well—through a picture, for God’s sake—brings the onslaught of tears.

Even after a year, the remnants of your sister is still here. And so are you, stuck in this country because you can’t find it in you to leave her.

“I’d say it a million times if it’d bring her back,” he murmurs, and you screw your eyes shut. God. Stop the fucking burning.

“She—” He sticks his hand in his pockets. “It sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but she told me that I was your favorite idol for a while. We were friends, or I’d like to think so, and every time our schedules clashed, she talked about you constantly. And she made me promise that I’d take you out somewhere fun. Or, well, she said the three of us should go out somewhere fun and I took it as a promise after her death. Mei nuna was a great sunbae, and I respect her so much…”

The two of you are staring at one another as the tears continue to roll down your cheeks. Respected. Well-liked. Beautiful. Popular. A diamond.

A diamond that shattered under society’s expectations.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Let me take you out. Or treat you to dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Music has been the background noise growing up your whole life. The moment where you came home crying because your ex broke up with you, you swore that Don’t Push Me played the whole way home. When your sister became a trainee—then an idol—you hummed Euphoria for countless days. And when you graduated high school and entered Seoul University, Heaven entered your mind, and the notes refused to leave.

In fact, you were so in tune, you had a song for every mood, and could name its title after listening it in a second.

Until it stopped.

Of course, you knew why. Yet, you questioned it when others asked you where your supposed skill went. The only—supposed—facts you could give was the fact that this “gift” disappeared when you were organizing your playlist. And it was as if the music knew, at the song: How can I love heartbreak, you’re the one I love.

You were listening to the harmonization, noting the time. Umma and Appa came home later than usual, and that itself was odd. They were—still are—the two most punctual people on Earth. Except they did come home late—hours late, probably, if you hadn’t called them. You still could recall their sobs, the gasps in between every word they struggled to push out, and the sirens in the distance. Umma took so long composing herself, that Appa had to grasp the phone and tell you, his voice hoarse, the persona of a strong, diligent father gone.

No. This was a father who was grieving. “Your sister… she’s dead.”

And in the background, ran the lyrics: waiting till it runs dry will be our farewell.

Since then, you removed music from a part of your life. There was no more k-pop, no more dramas, nothing. It was like living in a void of constant, endless silence. Others didn’t understand. But your heart was cracked in half, nearly turned into stone without the music keeping it beating—your sister’s music keeping it beating.

She was, after all, the reason why you grew up attached to it. With her constant singing in the showers, and her shoving an earphone in your ear, music and you merged together. Mei was the glue in between. Now she was gone, and you fell apart.

That was two years ago. The dinner with Namjoon went well. Not life-changing, but eye-opening. Eye-opening enough for you to realize that there was more than one person grieving. Several of her friends wanted to meet you, but had no way of contacting your family, who had closed themselves off.

Slowly but surely, you opened up again. Allowed the possibility of music to flow through you, hoping it would come back. To you, hope was the thing with feathers. It came as quickly as it left.

But it was also the only thing you could do.

“Still nothing?” Namjoon teases, spreading his legs apart as he leans his elbows on them, facing you. You’re in his studio, perched on the sofa, taking a bite of the kimbap he ordered. This friendship is the best thing that happened to you in the past year, and you’ll be forever grateful to Namjoon for picking up the pieces of your heart you left behind. It’s a little joke between the community that he breaks things the instant they enter his hands, but he’s a healer, too.

But sometimes, when seeing the frustration clearly evident on his face, and his lips pressed together, you wish that you had the power to heal him as well. There was so much stress on him as a leader—it being a heavy burden to carry—but he’d never regret taking on the responsibilities. And he shouldn’t, but you wish you can ease the load for him.

“No,” you growl, scrunching your nose. “This is stupid, isn’t it? Why can’t I just be grateful that I’m able to digest music again? And don’t making some weird eating joke. I hear enough of them from Jin.”

He holds his hands up in the air. “In my defense, I make better jokes than that.”

“Uh huh,” you roll your eyes. “You know what they say. The top five people you hang out with define your personality. And there’s a very high probability that Jin is in your top three, which says a lot.”

“You’re in my top three, too. Shouldn’t that counteract his lack of humor?”

“Kim Namjoon, if you think I’m funny, we really have a problem.”

He pouts. “You have a dark humor I can appreciate. Unless I can’t appreciate that?”

You shake your head, unable to believe him.

“On the bright side, I was able to sing along—not off key, either—to every song you guys performed to!” You cheer, handing the leader a bottle of water backstage. It’s impossible to wipe the grin off your face. This is your first concert after your sister’s death, and you can’t believe that it went so smoothly like this.

“Obviously because Namjoon chose the songs you listen to the most—”

“Hyung,” said idol cuts off. “It was a coincidence. You know that.”

“Do I?” Jin smirks. “Sorry. I’m getting old, so you know how my memory comes and goes.”

Jungkook takes the chance to pipe in, “So you admit you’re a grandpa now? I can call you Halabuji?”

“Ya—” As the eldest member chases after the youngest, the two of you are left alone. The other members are most likely waiting in the van, and you’re positive that all of them are no doubt tired now that the adrenaline is wearing off.

“You want me to take you home?” Namjoon offers, breaking the silence that ensues between the two of you.

“You can’t even drive,” you tease. “I’m good. More than capable of taking myself home, but thanks for offering.”

“Okay.” The words are slow, like he’s reluctant to say it. But it’s probably you reading into it. Just like them, you—as a fan—had been in a haze for the last few hours, having eyes for a certain member only. The others were amazing, exceptional even. Still, your gaze drifted back to Namjoon’s, wanting more.

This crush on him was kind of getting ridiculous. Like the snowball effect, though, your feelings began to grow and grow, until you couldn't handle it. Can't handle it.

“Hug?” You blurt, and spread your arms out. With a chuckle, he steps into your embrace, picking you up.

“Namjoon!”

“It’s not my fault you’re tiny.”

It’s not your fault he’s tall, hovering over you. His body is hard, and the sweat clings to his skin, but you don’t mind. In fact, you melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, face inches from his. He’s gorgeous, from his full lips to the warmth of his chocolate eyes that give you more than a sugar rush. Namjoon makes your body buzz, and your heart stutter, like it desperately wants to beat in sync with him.

“Thank you for giving me tickets for today,” you whisper, the words almost lodged in your throat. If there was no BTS concert today in Seoul, you would have sat there, in your room, thinking today of the day your sister killed herself. It’s pure coincidence that the company scheduled to have a concert on this certain day, but you truly needed the distraction.

His gaze softens, and he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Anything for you.”

It’s crazy how much happiness this person in front of you has brought you. As you pull away from the kiss, the memories dissipating, there are so many things you want to say to him. So many confessions, you don’t know where to start.

“Uh—” He pulls back, eyes widening in alarm. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—fuck. Shit.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you curse so much within 24 hours.” You giggle, but let the tears flow. Your heart is so full, the emotions need to escape elsewhere. Because you love this man. You love Kim Namjoon.

In truth, you never thought you’d love again after your sister died. Though with her, it was the familial love, she was your other half. And you never wanted to go through the pain of loss again.

Yet, for Kim Namjoon, you’d willingly rip your heart to shreds.

“I love you,” you choke out. “I love you.”

“You do?” he breathes out.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur. “But I do.”

But he bought you dinner and made you laugh by searching for dad jokes online. He bought you a pasta because it was your favorite food and then took you to a street market and bought tteokbokki. And ever since that night, he’s been a constant in your life.

“It’s crazy, but I love you too.” At his confession, you sob harder.

Somewhere, far away in the distance, how can I love the heartbreak, you’re the one I love plays again.

gift giver [jungkook x reader]

drabble count: 1

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summary: You didn’t know what to do with all the gifts Jungkook sends you—regularly. Whether he’s on tour, or in Korea, he’s mailing you a gift that somehow manages to arrive weekly. As the guilt gnaws at you, you realize it’s time to end things. Friendship isn’t based on money, after all.

But the idol has different intentions.

tldr; in which Jungkook “persuades” you to accept his gifts bc he loves spoiling you

pairing: jungkook x reader

chapter warnings: mature, slight angst, swearing

a/n: hello hello! this is my first drabble, and the ao3 version of it is here. i love writing drabbles based on prompts, so if you want one, please don't hesitate to ask/submit on my page. thanks so much for reading!

It’s not your fault that Jungkook’s so charming. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself—mentally preparing yourself, in fact—as you smile at the cashier. Your brain needs the latte, since pulling an all-nighter was one of the worst ideas you had. Right next to the decision you made to meet the idol while you’re sleep deprived.

Fortunately, it’s a small cafe. One of the spots that only idols know of, apparently. You’re grateful for the coziness of it, the fairy lights reflecting your room, and the small whir of the coffee machine at work.

“That’ll be—”

“I got it,” a low voice interjects, and a hand slips around your waist, the other placing slips of won on the counter. As the cashier’s eyes widen, you know who it is.

“Jungkook,” you breath out. “You don’t have to.”

It’s all you can say, as it’s a fight you’ve put up for months. But every time he shoots you that look—one of promise—you can’t help but melt under his gaze. The intense aura he gives off when he’s around you has you in a puddle of goo, but also stirs up a rebellious side of you.

Sometimes, you’ll see his eyes darken when that side comes out. Other times, there’s a warmth around him, as if treating you is his favorite thing to do in the world. As if you are the center of the world to him. Though you know it’s a fabrication in your head, you don’t want it to stop.

With a sharp nod towards the lady, he leads you to the table in the corner. The mask dwarfs half of his face, while the top is taken up by his sunglasses and hat. It’s ridiculous—you’ve made fun of him one too many times—but needed, since he’s an international idol.

Obviously. Like you don’t get reminded of that everyday. You don’t want to feel that jealous pang when girls shriek his name and declare that they belong to him. You don’t want that to be a barrier between your friendship with him, especially because he means so much to you.

So what’s the temporary solution until you can figure it out?

Cut off his gift givings.

“Did you like the desktop I sent you?” He asks casually, as if he was asking about the weather, and not the thousand dollar computer laying on your desk, still boxed. Sure, it may not have costed much in his eyes, but he bought practically everything in your apartment.

How, you don’t know.

“Uh, yeah,” you comment, picking at the seam of your hoodie. “It… works very well.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow—a telltale sign that he knows you’re bullshitting him. You know him well enough to escape his scrutiny, too. Well, sometimes.

Being a terrible liar sucked.

“And you like the note I left you?”

Oh, crap. Your shoulders stiffen at that. He left you a note? Since when did he decide to leave notes instead of texting like an average person in the 21st century?

“You’re lying,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Your eyes are drawn to his physique. Broad shoulders, well-defined abs hidden by layers of clothing, and a clenched jaw. Accompanied by a dark gaze, you can see the gears turning in his head.

“I’m not lying,” you blurt out, and can see the smirk crawl up his face. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh, really?” Jungkook mocks. “Then repeat what I wrote in the note.”

“You just said that my memory was like Dory yesterday. How do you expect me to remember?”

One more word, and you’ll break. It’s hard resisting Jungkook, and he’s way more stubborn than you are. The clink of the glass coffee cup interrupts his thoughts, though, and you breath a sigh of relief.

Safe, for now.

Taking a sip, you peek up from your lashes at the brooding man in front of you. His arms are crossed over his chest, but his gaze never leaves yours, following every one of your actions.

Unsettling.

“You didn’t open my gift,” he presses, the sentence more of a statement than a question. “Why?”

“Because.”

An eyebrow raises.

“You spend too much money on me, Jungkook.”

“I like spending money on you.” Ignoring what you said, he steals your glass and takes a sip himself, legs under the table tangling with yours. A distraction—this much you know. Today, though, you’re pushing through and getting what you want.

“But—”

“And providing for you makes me happy. Seeing you light up at the present I gave you, watching you unbox it or text me that you love it, having you thank me the next time you see me with that flush in your cheeks makes everything worth it.”

You can’t help it. Cheeks warming, you dip your head.

“Did something happen at work today?” He got like this when work was hard—harder than usual. There were days where it’d be taxing on his body, others when he’d be mentally drained by the world’s thoughts about him. Because somehow, everyone had an opinion about it.

Not that you could blame them—though you did, regularly cussing out much of the haters. Still, you understood what some admirers said when they felt distanced from him.

Even next to him, struggling to act like his friend, it felt like you were miles apart.

“It’s no big deal,” he rubs his jaw. “Just had to handle some PR things.”

A nod. As if you understand what he’s talking about. The fact that he had a horrible day is written on his face, and you feel awful that you’re rejecting the gift he put time in to give you.

“I just feel like I’m taking all your money. And that I’m not giving enough back to make our friendship balanced.”

There’s a moment of silence. A hand comes under your chin to meet his softened expression.

“Love,” Jungkook murmurs, and your heart starts to race again. It does, whenever he uses that name for you. “You giving me the time of day is enough for me. Haven’t I said that already?”

“Yes,” the word comes out forceful, more frustrated. “But can’t you see that I feel bad? For not giving you anything in return?”

“You said friendship wasn’t based on money.” There’s a slight curve on the side of his mouth, eyes shining with amusement.

“Don’t throw my words back at me! Just…” You blow out a breath. “Tell me what you want. Maybe I can fulfill your wish or something.”

You swear you’re hallucinating when his eyes dip to where your mouth is.

With a shake of his head and the corners of his eyes crinkling, he says, “Time. More with you.”

There’s finality in his tone. And you?

You accept the loss, lips pressed together.

Of course you don’t accept the loss.

Your stubbornness ran through and through. When you were little, Mom told you that going to Seoul University with your IQ level would be impossible. But it was your persistence—to sign up to every hagwon, to ditch your friends and come home studying, and to work hard for your dreams—that got you that acceptance letter. It wasn’t about giving up—it was about finding new solutions.

And of course, it has to apply to this situation. After the conversation with Jungkook, he actively avoided every time you brought up another gift he sent.

Today is the official day to return it. Not that you know how.

Or, well, you do. Parting with your gifts is the true issue at hand.

“You’re going to meet him?” Sara props her elbow on the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. Eyes flick to the clock hanging above the sofa.

“This early in the morning?” Her voice still has the morning croak, and she takes another gulp. There’s practically a bird’s nest on her head, and the bags under her eyes extends to her cheeks now. You probably look the same as her—you’re not a morning person at all.

“He says there’s no schedule in the morning today, just practice.”

“And you’re really going to return what he gave you?”

“Yes?” Not all of it, just the most recent one. Still, her question gnaws at you, and you press your lips together. Maybe you should return everything he bought you. In case he asks for it back.

“I say you keep it,” your roommate comments, and you know she’s hiding that smile on her face. “He clearly loves spoiling you.”

With a hesitant glance, your eyes dart between the neatly unwrapped present—another stack of books, signed by the author. An original edition. It made sense that he was able to get his hands on it—he was an international idol. Loved by millions. The part that messed you up was why he was spending money on you. Sure, he agreed to being friends, but that was because you practically begged him to be yours. And maybe it was all the people who were clout chasers that had him realize that friendship had to be based on money.

No matter how much he denied it, you could tell there was some naivety in him, coming into the idol life at a young age. And you wanted to prove to him that you weren’t one of those people, that your friendship could keep going even without the gifts.

“I think it’s better if I return it,” you mutter, but roam over the glare from the hardback cover. Last time you touched them, the pages were still a stiff, but it would loosen up once you flip through them thousands of times, memorizing every line. It’s almost a shame that you have to return them.

“If he rejects your offer,” Sara shrugs, “just remember that I told you so.”

At this, you snort.

“What!” She raises her mug. “We’ve lived together for two years and I’ve never been wrong when I called something.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” you retort, but clutch the bag tighter.

“This way,” the employee greets, walking you through the hallway as she opens the wooden door. It’s then when you catch the sight of him—idol Jungkook. And boy, is the air around him different.

Though he’s been confident since he met you, it’s as this version of him is multiplied. Following the instructor’s steps, his movements are fluid and his snaps are confident. As he runs a hand through his hair, his shirt rides up, and your throat goes dry. You knew he was fit, but to this degree… The pack of well defined abs, and the lean biceps that accompany it doesn’t erase itself from your mind.

And that gaze. The intensity of it does something to your gut.

Especially when it swings right at you.

“Y/N!” He calls, an easy smile slipping onto his face. Your eyes widen, and you falter, taking a step back as six other heads turn at the sound of your name. The bag in your arm lifts a little higher as self-consciousness wraps itself around you.

Here Jungkook is, shining like the star that he is. A towel in one hand, he wipes the sweat of his forehead. One head darts out to get a better look at you, and you don’t know what to do when his—Jin’s—eyes widen. It’s then when it truly hits you—the times you spent with Jungkook hanging out in your dorm, when the two of you went out for dinner and coffee, those were all fabrications. This is reality. The vast distance between you and Jungkook. An international idol and a poor college student.

“Hi,” you muster. His smile only widens to a beam and in long strides, closes the distance between you do.

“What are you doing here?” Your lips part, and you can’t help but stare at Jungkook’s abs—or at least, his cloth-covered stomach. No way do you let your gaze drift down to his muscular thighs. The exact ones that you sat on once.

“Can I have a moment alone with you?” You don’t need to have this conversation with his members around. Or the dance instructor.

“Sure,” Namjoon pipes in before anyone else can say anything. He shoots a nod to the maknae, and with a wary glance, the room empties. It’s the click of the door that has you freezing up again. Because it’s just the two of you.

Maybe it was better to have this conversation with the members here.

“Is this for me?” He motions to the bag, and his hand clasps your waist. As if he knows you were skittish around him. And of course, because you are, you squeak.

“Um.” The bag crinkles once it’s in contact with his chest, and you avoid his eyes. “I wanted to return the gifts you got for me.”

“You didn’t like them?” Eyes narrow, and he almost seems to be glaring at your hands. Oh no. He knows you’re in it to return them now. Knows that your eyes are dead set on making a point. You flush.

“No— I—” With a deep breath, you start again. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I love them. But I don’t need them. And I don’t want you to think that you’re obligated to buy me gifts just because we’re friends.”

“So you like them.” Oh God, he’s closer now. Your hands are curled into a ball, but if you spread out your fingers, they’d be splayed on his chest. From this amount of distance between the two of you, you can see the drop of sweat rolling down his cheek down to his neck.

And all you can think is: It’s hot here.

“Yes?”

There’s a twitch in his lip, and he leans in. “That didn’t sound like an answer, love. And you know I don’t like repeating myself. Hell, this conversation isn’t one that I should be repeating. Especially not in front of my hyungs.”

Love. You could die there and then.

“I do like them,” you whisper. “But—”

“So you’ll keep them and read them, yeah?” The firm tone leaves no open windows for an argument. A hand goes up to brush your hair behind your ear. “I bought them because I wanted you to be happy, Y/N. Believe it or not, I know that friendship doesn’t need to be based on money.”

Ugh. It’s the same, similar sounding guilt-tripping words he used last week. Now you felt terrible.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’ll read them?”

All you can do is nod. Let out an incoherent protest when a hand on your back presses you right up against him. Chest to chest. In a swift motion, he turned you around, too, so that your back was right up against the wall, him against you.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “And you’ll watch me practice?”

“I—”

“You’ll watch me?” This time, he nibbles on the area right under your earlobe and sucks.

“Yes,” the slight whine in your throat comes out—one of surprise and embarrassment. Surprise because he’s never acted so, so… barbaric before. Embarrassment because this is how you responded. There’s a pained expression on his face, and your cheeks blush in embarrassment. He’s probably cringing on the inside that you threw yourself on him, especially when so many people do that every day.

“Good,” his tone is rougher, and you frown. Yeah, you definitely set him off. “And I think I found a way that you can repay me, too.”

“What?” You breathe, right before his mouth slants on top of yours. In an instant, you melt, hands tangling in his hair, body sliding down the wall. It’s his hands that grip at your thighs, releasing a moan when you tug a little too hard. When his cock presses right up against you, you whimper.

“J- Jungkook.” His mouth kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. His hips begins grinding against you, thrusting just right there.

“Fuck,” he groans in your neck, and you can feel the vibrations when he nibbles where your pulse is pounding. “I can’t wait any longer. Let’s fuck right here, love. Please.”

The desperate tone in his voice causes your gut to clench, and all rational thought leaves your mind when he whispers: “I bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you?”

The broken moan you reply with is enough for his thumb to part your panties to the side and rub your clit. The touch itself causes you to grind down harder, causes him to thrust a little deeper.

“What am I going to say to my hyungs, hm?” He mutters, an index finger sliding inside of you. “Fuck. You’re so tight. Clenching around my finger, huh? In a time like this?”

“P- Please.” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, mind growing hazy. All you know is that when he pulls his finger out and slams it in your pussy again, this time with two digits, your head slams back into the wall with a gasp.

“Let me just eat you out right now,” he murmurs. “I’ll eat you out and fuck you later.”

“Someone will see!” You blurt, but can’t seem to stop wiggling. Grinding on the palm of his hand. Letting out little gasps and whimpers. You tell him to stop, but your body’s telling him otherwise. And the glint in his eyes tells you he knows it. That he has power.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long. I don’t think I can stop now. I at least have to make you cum, right? Or I could…” He slips his fingers out, and watches as you squirm, lower lip jutting out.

“Look how wet you are.” There’s a sliver of cum dripping out of you, and in one, smooth motion, he crouches to lick it directly from the source. Another groan escapes you, and you’re not even apologetic when you cover his whole face.

“Jungkook, please please please.”

“You have no idea how much it turned me on whenever you asked for something,” he admits, and pinches your clit. His face in front of you blurs in a pleasurable haze. “When you said please and thank you, I wanted to fuck you so hard until you couldn’t want—right after I gave you your present. Because you like being spoiled, don’t you love? Even though you refuse to say so, even though you rejected the gifts I give you. You—”

Suck.

“Jung—” Just as quickly as he gave you pleasure, he takes it away. You’re in a broken mess, right about to sob, so close to begging. And you know he knows it.

“Love.”

Suck.

“Attention.”

This time, he devours you. His tongue licks and twirls, and you don’t even care that your skirt is ridden up, your lower half exposed. You’re chasing the last bit of pleasure, riding on his face, chanting his name like a prayer.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook!” There’s a fire furling in your gut, your pussy clenching and a build-up of emotions climbing within you.

“Say you like my presents, Y/N,” he growls, and the vibrations add to your near climax.

“I like them! I love them!”

“Greedy girl,” he laughs. “Doing anything to get her orgasm.”

“Anything!”

“Date me,” he demands. It’s not a question—it’s an order—and with a final swipe of your cunt, you shriek, “Yes!”

The orgasm hits you, and your legs give out. Through the crash, Jungkook’s arms steadies you, and he leaves little kisses on your forehead. His hand—the one that did dirty things to you mere seconds ago—are now rubbing your back.

He coos, “You did such a good job, love. Such a good job.”

With a flush, your bury your head in his chest. In his thin shirt that you were clinging onto, alternating between the cloth and his hair.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“Took us long enough.” The idol retorts with a grin. “I’ve been trying to get you to fall for me months ago.”

You blink. “That’s why you kept giving me presents?”

“Who else would I give it to,” he scoffs. “Jimin? The best gift I could ever give him is height, though that’s not possible.”

You release a giggle, and his eyes soften. “Promise you’ll date me.”

“You already asked.”

“I want to hear it again,” he counters back. But there’s hesitance in his eyes. It makes your heart expand and warmth flow throughout you.

“Of course I’ll date you, Jeon Jungkook.” You tilt your head up to give him a peck on his lips. “For your information, I’ve been liking you for a while, too.”

“Good,” he says simply, though the satisfying smirk on his face is there. “Now I can spoil you more with presents—no excuses.”

“More? It should be less!”

When he cradles you in a hug, arms wrapping around your waist, you’re content. At least, content enough to give him the upper hand again, for now…

“More. Definitely more.”