#e2l

A comment in a meeting that sounded suspiciously like the idea you floated in the group chat three days ago. A nod from your team leader that landed on him instead of you. A “great job, Jungkook,” when you were the one whose eye had twitched compiling a fifty-page report.

One thing led to another, and suddenly:

He’s in your seat in the weekly performance review.

He’s in your place on the email threads, Teams chats and Zoom meetings.

He’s in the front row, presenting your pitch, with your graphs, and your politely homicidal smile forced into a supportive expression in the background.

You do not consider yourself a vengeful person.

Truly. You recycle. You respond to emails within 24 hours. You once let someone take the last chocolate muffin in the break room without cursing their entire bloodline.

You really don’t.

But Jungkook has thirty-seven pens on his desk.

And every single one of them is blue.

Blue ink.

Blue barrels.

Blue caps.

Blue souls.

You know this because you’ve counted them before—during one particularly long conference call when the client said “circling back” ten times and your only comfort was silently calculating how much Jungkook’s stationery obsession could fund a small pen museum.

He arranges them in little clusters: the “today pens,” the “meeting pens,” the “absolutely-not-for-lending pens.” 

He has a system. He polishes them with the sleeve of his shirt. He glares at anyone who dares touch them. They’re his emotional support pens. His emotional support blue pens.

So you steal them all.

You do it quietly, professionally, like a woman with a mission and an Excel sheet.

It begins at 9:41am, when he leaves for his “quick” coffee break—meaning anywhere between 10 and 27 minutes, depending on how flirtatious the barista is and how existential his mood is that morning.

Step one: scan the office.

Your team leader is in a meeting. Hollie from HR is nowhere to be seen, probably busy crafting another “Remember, we’re a family :)” email. The interns are whisper-fighting over the printer. Curtis from IT has his headphones on and looks spiritually divorced from reality.

Perfect.

A handful of pens disappear into your tote, sliding between your planner and your lunch.

Another handful slips up your sleeve with the precision of a magician pulling off a trick no one paid to see.

One is tucked into your hair like a weapon, the clip anchoring perfectly into your bun.

You move like you’re conducting a heist and balancing a looming deadline—fluid, focused, mildly stressed.

By the time Jungkook returns from his suspiciously long coffee break, his desk is empty.

Completely.

Utterly.

Beautifully barren.

It looks almost minimalist now. Clean. Peaceful. Like the desk of someone who doesn’t make your blood pressure spike.

You sit at your own desk, typing calmly—the picture of corporate innocence. The scent of burnt office coffee hangs faintly in the air. Someone’s keyboard clacks too loudly in the distance. The air-con is too cold, as always.

And then the door opens.

Jungkook stops dead in the doorway.

“…No,” he whispers.

You don’t look up.

You can feel him behind you though, like static. His sneakers squeak against the carpet as he takes hesitant, disbelieving steps toward his desk.

He opens his top drawer.

Then the second.

Then the third.

The sound of each drawer rattling open is deeply, deeply satisfying.

“No, no, no—”

The pitch of his voice climbs with each drawer like he’s narrating the stages of grief in real time.

He whirls around. “Did you take them?”

You finally look up, blinking slowly, your expression is the human embodiment of a shrug.

“Take what?”

“My pens,” he says, voice cracking like he’s recounting trauma to a therapist. “My blue ones.”

You let your gaze flick lazily to his desk. Then back to him. His hair is a little messier than before, like he’s run his hands through it on the walk back from the café. There’s a tiny smear of coffee foam on his lip. 

It annoys you that you notice.

“Why would I do that?” you ask, sipping your coffee—with his favourite pen in your bun like a crown.

You make sure the pen’s clip catches the light when you tilt your head. It glints—a royal blue halo above your face.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement automatically. His stare catches on your hair. On the pen. You watch the exact moment the penny drops.

He looks personally betrayed.

“You know I can’t write with black ink,” he says, devastated. He says it like some people might say, “You know I’m allergic to peanuts,” or “You know I was abandoned at a train station as a child.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you reply, letting the words roll off your tongue with the practiced ease of someone who has been rehearsing this moment in front of the bathroom mirror.

You turn back to your monitor, clicking to the next slide, pretending his mild meltdown is not the highlight of your week.

He doesn’t move away.

Instead, you feel him lean closer. His desk chair creaks quietly as he plants a hand on the edge of your desk, bending toward you until his cologne and coffee-breath mix into something familiar and annoyingly distracting.

Too close.

Definitely not HR-approved proximity.

His voice drops, low enough that only you can hear it over the background noise of phones ringing and keyboards rattling.

“I will get you back for this.”

You feel it more than hear it, the soft vibrato of his words skimming over your skin. It shouldn’t do anything to you. 

It does. You hate that.

You smirk.

Tiny. Controlled. Weaponised.

“Checkmate,” you murmur, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in your tone.

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches—like he’s fighting a smile he has no business having in this conversation.

“Game on,” he says quietly.

Then he straightens, walks back to his tragically empty, penless desk, opens a drawer, sighs miserably at its contents—or lack thereof—and, with the deepest possible reluctance, picks up a lone black biro from the communal stationery pot.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he stares at it like it’s personally offended his ancestors.

He uncaps it.

Hovers it over a sticky note.

Winces. 

“Ugh,” he mutters.

You take another sip of your coffee, stealing one more glance at the blue pen in your hair.

He took your promotion. Your project. Your first kiss.

You took his thirty-seven pens.

Seems fair. For now.

✑ ── next ✑ series masterlist ✑ main masterlist

taglist: @impossiblecopoaffire @themwordsblog @twomoonsceo ⤷ please send an ask or comment on the series masterlist if you would like to be added!

𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱

➻❥ Prologue

All The Summers We Have Left :

1. Last Kiss

2. Supercut

(3rd part- summer 11 below)

➻❥ Touch

➻❥ The Night We Met

more sunlight coming soon...

All The Summers That Belonged To Us :

➻❥ Click To Visit Herringdale.

3. Summer 11

➻❥ Summer 12

➻❥ Summer 14

➻❥ Summer 15

more sunlight coming soon...

~~𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙~~~~~~~~𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙~~~~~~~~~~~~~𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙~~~~~~~~~~~~~𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙~~~~~~

@ninijjk9

(I usually wait for authors to finish posting so I can hyperfocus, disappear from reality, and binge-read everything in one go—but these are so good that waiting for each chapter is totally worth it).

Let’s go!

(╯°□°）╯┻━┻

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　 *　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀ *　　

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

Teach me how to love by @kookooluvr

fwb2l, slow burn

Jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

I love how we get wrapped up in the story, how the OC has walls up, and how JK breaks them down so gently. He’s so sweet, so soft, and so sure about his feelings—his patience is top-tier. And when he’s in bed… damn, a whole different side comes out. That duality hits me hard. I need one of these for myself. 😮‍💨🔥

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

Wounds we never show by @smartkookiee

E2L

You and Jungkook have always at each other's throats, bound by a mutual disdain that runs deep. You both would rather step into traffic than be alone together. But when a chance encounter at a wedding leads to an unexpected and forbidden arrangement, the lines between enemies and something more begin to blur.

This is one of my all-time faves! I love a good E2L, but the way this one unfolds… you don’t really know how it started—you just piece it together through flashbacks while they’re getting real close with some 🔥 scenes. Seriously, chef’s kiss! 😙👌

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

Fuck me up! by @jungkoode

E2L , RoomatesAU

A story about ruined expectations & reckless decisions ˎˊ˗

When your search for affordable NYC housing leads you to apartment 6B, you think you've hit the jackpot. That is, until you realize your new roommate is the guy from that one wild night on January - the one who ruined you for anyone else. Now you're stuck sharing walls with the living embodiment of your worst mistake, and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke on. Between his emotional damage and your trust issues, this arrangement is a disaster waiting to happen.

But hey, at least the hate sex is phenomenal.

What can I even say about the story that introduced me to my fairy godmother of ffs? Kiki is brilliant, and I love how she interacts with us! But about the story- imagine getting stuck in an apartment with the most unbearable roommate... who also happens to be the best sex of your life. Not sure if it's E2L or Enemies with Benefits— your call, haha. Either way, it's amazing! The best part? It's total crack (but also no) but still unfolds so well, and I just know l'll be left face down on the floor for hours.🫠🫠🫠

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

2U ⭑.ᐟ by @numinousher

E2L, roommates. SMAU.

The two of you become roommates after being cheated on. how will you and jungkook handle your new life together when one blasts sad music and cries their heart out until they don’t have anymore tears, and the other watches rom-coms movies and cries about the life they could’ve had?

It’s a mess, but this JK? Walking green flag. Absolute sweetheart and so protective… ugh, I’m in love! 🩷 And i love the way he gets her vocabulary haha giiiirl

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

Bloodlines entwined by @spideyjimin

WerewolfAU, pregnancy

Having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.  

Look, I'm not really into werewolf stories. I read them, enjoy them, love the possessiveness and all, but for some reason, I've never really gotten hooked. At least, not until this one. Damn, my dream is to acidentally get pregnant by this wolf king right here, haha! WOOF WOOF 👀 🐺

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

Colour me in by @taegularities

Fwb, fake dating, college!au

Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.

Rid starts with a solid fake dating plot, and before you know it, all your emotions are scattered across Tumblr. For me, this FF is one of the all-time classics of Tumblr. It’s one of those to frame, read, and re-read. I’m telling you, so many scenes made me go back and read them again. When I found CMI, I was find on chap 5 and had no idea what was going on, but it was written so well I couldn’t stop the chapter, then I started from the begining. NOBODY IS GOING TO REGREAT READ THIS. In one scene i was so inspired, that i painted a giant canva.

⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱⊰⋆⊱

This is the pt.1.

Please lmk your thoughts!!!!

After months of endless scrolling, awkward tours, and disappointments, you finally found the one—the perfect apartment!

No roommates? Check!

Near the bus stop, grocery stores, coffee shops? Check!

Near your school and work? Check!

Modern apartment with high-tech amenities? Well, not check.

The building’s slightly dated exterior gave away its age, but hey, it was well-maintained and had that cozy, lived-in charm. So,

Vibes? Check!

It’s your first night in your new apartment, surrounded by a sea of sealed boxes (except for a mattress you’d laid on the floor). You feel accomplished. The drive from your old place was a nightmare, and you’ve got exactly five boxes with you, mostly clothes, books, and some appliances. Everything else is apparently still “on its way”, thanks to online shopping apps! You’re so ready for this fresh start. New apartment, new life!

You’d even spotted your next-door neighbor earlier—a tall, cute guy with arm tattoos and a sharp jawline. An eye candy wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t seem to notice you as he checked his mail while walking to his door, and you were glad, given your limited social skills.

After a much-needed shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and waited for your food delivery. Starving, tired, and ready to crash, you finally heard a knock at the door.

AAAhhh!!! My buritooo!!!

You had added a note to your order to leave the food by your door. When the knocking stopped, you sprinted to the door, too hungry to think straight.

You opened the door to grab the paper bag, but just as your fingers brushed the edge, your foot caught on the doorframe, and the next thing you knew, you were slipping. Your arms flailed, grasping for anything to steady yourself but it was too late. A loud thud, then your feet hit something heavy, followed by another crash.

Disoriented, you blinked and found yourself on the floor, head resting awkwardly against the door. Your towel clung to your damp body as you processed the scene: the potted plant that once stood proudly in the hallway was now on the ground, soil scattered everywhere—and somehow, all over you. You groaned in disbelief, covered in dirt, your towel the only thing that kept you from being fully exposed.

Shit. Fuck. Great.

You didn’t move, your eyes squeezed shut in disbelief. The floor was cold against your skin, and as you stayed perfectly still, wishing this wasn’t real, a door swung open.

Your next-door neighbor.

Tattoos, sweatpants, an oversized shirt, messy hair—and ogling at the crime scene with his round, shocked eyes.

"What’s going on? You okay?"

His voice was calm but obviously concerned, which, honestly, was fair considering the sight before him: soil everywhere, woman on the floor, clutching a towel and burritos, hair wet.

It’s like a storybook with no text—just look at the scene and you’ll get the plot.

“Oh, uh…” you gestured at the mess. “Yeah, fine. Just… gardening at midnight. It’s a thing I do.”

He leaned against the doorframe, huffing. “Cool hobby. Very niche.”

You exhaled sharply.

"You need help? Didn’t break your spine or something? Here." He didn’t wait for a response, just offered his hand like it was the most casual thing in the world.

But you were too embarrassed to process any of it. You didn’t want help, didn’t want to exist, didn’t want to be perceived at all.

“Nope, I’m good. Just gonna lay here for a while.”

You wished you could just sink into the floor.

"Alright," he said, shrugging as if he’d offered you a hand, not a whole rescue mission. "If you say so. Holler if you need help, I’m right next door, as you can clearly see.”

He disappeared back into his apartment, leaving you on the floor with shame, dirt, and your burrito.

Never speaking to anyone here again? CHECK!

Once the coast was clear, you carefully got up, trying to shake the soil off your body, your towel clinging to you like it’s the only thing keeping you together. With a frustrated sigh, you reached for the door handle, but as your hand gripped it and you gave it a shake, you realized—it was locked.

You rattled it again, more forcefully this time, but no, it didn’t budge.

Locked out.

In a towel.

At midnight.

With a burrito in one hand.

“Fuck my life.”

🖕🏼fuck my life

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

You paced the hallway, trying to come up with the best course of action.

Minutes later, your next-door neighbor’s door opened again.

“You still out here?” His voice was casual, and you saw him standing there, now in a gray pajama set, holding a water bottle, looking at you like you were the weirdest creature he’d ever seen.

You tried to play it cool. “Oh, just, uh… admiring the hallway. Great maintenance work here. Big fan of this paint job.”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. He narrowed his eyes, “You locked yourself out, didn’t you?”

You stared at him.

Yes, observant king. Just goooo…

You groaned. But you try to sound optimistic “Yes, I locked myself out. But it’s fine! I’ll just wait here for the landlord in the morning.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head as his eyes scanned you up and down. "At midnight? In a towel? Freezing?"

You gave him a pained smile, doing your best to hold it together despite the chill creeping through your towel.

Leaning against the doorframe, he gave you a look that said he was mildly bothered by your situation. "I’ll call the landlord, but knowing Mr. Kang, he’s probably gonna pick up in the morning." He paused, then added, “Wanna borrow some clothes or something? You’re gonna freeze out here."

Before you could respond, he vanished inside his apartment. A few moments later, he reappeared with a pair of gray sweatpants and a hoodie, phone pressed to his ear.

"He’s not answering, but I texted him. Hopefully, he’ll see it when he wakes up. They should be able to send someone as early as 6 am.”

As soon as you had the clothes in hand, you quickly threw on the hoodie. It was so big, it reached your knees, so you skipped the pants altogether. It smelled so good you wonder what laudry detergent he used. Meanwhile, he was still fiddling with his phone, his eyes focused on the screen.

“You have no one to call?” he asked, clearly trying to come up with a plan to help.

You didn’t have anyone to call. Your friends and family were either overseas, or hours away, but you didn’t want to get into that. So instead of answering him, you decided to with your genius idea and ask the question that had been floating in your mind.

“I haven’t asked for your name. I’m YN,” you said, offering an awkward smile.

“Jungkook,” he replied, his attention still on his phone.

“Jungkook,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. Then, with a serious face, you asked him, “Jungkook, would you be able to help me if I asked you to break my door down?”

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 5 stars

"Alright, let's do it," he said, cracking his knuckles.

Jungkook was game. No hesitation. When you casually suggested the idea of him breaking down your door, he didn’t even blink. Like he was waiting for you to say it.

He popped his phone into his pocket and strolled over to the door like he did this sort of thing on the regular.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he replied, smirking like this was the most casual thing to do. "If you want the door broken, we’ll break the door. Let’s keep it quick, though. We don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

“Alright, door’s all yours,” you said, stepping aside and plopping down on the floor.

Jungkook was already squatting by the door, eyeing the lock with way too much focus. You, on the other hand, were sitting there, happily devouring your cold burrito.

He took a step back, raised his shoulder, and rammed into the door.

It only took one, or maybe two, solid hits before you heard the satisfying crack of the door frame giving way. The door literally flew open, and you casually took another bite of your burrito.

He stood there, hands on his hips, clearly proud of himself. "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy." He glanced at you, asking, “You good?”

You gave him a thumbs-up, chewing slowly. “Yeah, excellent work. Five stars. Thank you.”

With a grin, he answered you with a thumbs-up and said, "Welcome to the neighborhood," before heading back to his apartment.

You strolled into your now wide-open apartment, finishing off your burrito.

That night, you used some boxes to keep the door “locked.”

The next morning, you opened the door to find your landlord standing there with a toolbox. He blinked at the door, taking in the wreckage.

You shrugged. “Sorry. Had no choice. Next door helped me out.”

He scratched his head before getting to work on the lock. When he finished, he gave you a pointed look. “Just… try not to have any more emergencies with the door, okay?”

You smiled. “I’ll try my best.”

🎧thin walls

You started to settle into your new place. There were still a few pieces of furniture you hadn’t assembled yet, but it was starting to look homey and feel cozy. You adjusted to juggling school and work, finishing the classes you postponed last year to finally graduate.

But every time you remember your first night, you wince.

Almost naked, dirt all over you, lying on the floor like you’re auditioning for a disaster movie… like what the hell.

Embarrassing. Okay, fine, the burrito part was kinda fun, especially when he casually broke down the door…

You even reenacted the part where you were lying on the floor, just to see how ridiculous you looked.

The incident kept replaying in your head, and the more you thought about it, the worse it seemed.

You couldn’t shake how embarrassing it was.

You were thankful to Jungkook, sure. He basically saved you, like some kind of real-life Spider-Man, but why, instead of just thanking him like a normal person, are you avoiding him?

You’ve been dodging him for weeks now, and every time you even think about it, you feel like sinking with the floor.

And because you had been avoiding him, you became familiar with your next-door neighbor’s usual activities—what time he left for work, when he normally came home, whether he had visitors over…

Sometimes he’d have friends over. You assumed they were playing and/or drinking because of the cheers, banter, and sometimes you’d hear them wrestling (?), based on the violent slaps or panicked “ouch, ouch, I’m sorry, please put me down, Jungkookaaa!!!”

You knew he had the same friend group because you had already recognized them by their distinct laughs. There’s the windshield laugh, and then there’s the one with the high-pitched, sharp, hysterical laugh that’s always accompanied by clapping.

Thin walls.

They could be pretty loud, but they usually wrapped up before around 11 pm.

One night, when you had to wake up early for class the next day, you were kept awake by a girl’s high-pitched, giggly voice.

“Oh my god, Jungkook, stopppp,” she squealed, clearly not wanting him to stop at all.

Then came the sounds you really didn’t need to hear—the soft creak of a mattress, her breathy moans, and a muffled, “Fuck, you’re so good,” that made your stomach churn.

You groaned, stuffing a pillow over your head. “Fucking hell!”

This continued until dawn.

The next night, it happened again. Different girl, same obnoxious volume. This one was louder, theatrical, like she was auditioning for something.

“Jungkook!” she gasped, her voice echoing through the walls. “Right there, oh my god—”

You shoved your headphones in, blasted “Deep Layered Brown Noise,” and flipped a middle finger at the wall separating your rooms.

This kept happening for two weeks! TWO WEEKS!!! You were so done. Angry and ready to lash out, you thought, God, give me a break!!!

🍊tangerines

You were never the confrontational type. You were more of the passive-aggressive girlie... until you exploded.

So instead of confronting him, you carried on avoiding him. That was until you ran into him on the stairs, arms loaded with groceries in two paper bags.

“You need help?” he asked.

“Nope, I’ve got it,” you lied, seconds before one of the bags tore, and your tangerines scattered across the floor, some rolling down the staircase.

Jungkook sighed, shaking his head. “You good?”

“Totally. Love chasing fruit in public,” you deadpanned, scrambling to collect the scattered tangerines.

He helped anyway, gathering what he could into his hands. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You spotted a few tangerines still rolling down the stairs but decided it was fine. You could survive being vitamin C deficient.

“You’re still getting used to this ‘living alone’ thing, huh?” he said, amused.

“Yeah, well, I’ll never get used to having loud neighbors,” you shot back, surprising even yourself.

He froze, just as surprised as you. After a moment of thought, he bit his bottom lip and turned to you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you could hear.”

“Well, now you know. Thin walls. Thin fucking walls,” you snapped, your weeks’ worth of irritation spilling over before you stormed off to your apartment.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Jungkook holding the remaining tangerines he’d picked up from the stairs.

You could tell he was about to say something—his mouth opened slightly—but you snatched the fruits, avoided his gaze, and quickly muttered, “Thanks,” before shutting the door.

📦 what's in the box?

You were just about to shut down from exhaustion as you reached your door after your late-night shift when you noticed a package sitting by your door.

A brown box.

Thinking it was just one of the things you’d ordered, you picked it up and fiddled with your keys to get inside.

But just as you held the knob, the door to your neighbor’s apartment opened. You panicked, your hand hastily sliding the keys in.

Oops. You'd already locked eyes with Jungkook.

He was standing there, grinning like a devil…

What’s he up to now?

In his hand is also a brown box, and based on the way it was crinkling at the top, it looked like it had already been opened, and you could see pink ruffles peeking through.

He strolled over to you, extending the box, and casually said, “There’s been a mix-up. This was delivered to me. I opened it thinking it was mine since I was expecting a package today, and it didn’t have a name on it, just the unit number. Sorry if I missed that.”

“Uh... okay?” you muttered, still not fully processing what was going on.

“I believe that is mine,” he smiled, casually gesturing to the box you were holding.

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, quickly swapping boxes with him. But the moment your fingers wrapped around your box and your eyes landed on the contents inside, your jaw dropped.

The entire box was full of pink toys—pink dildos, pink handcuffs, a penis-shaped headband, a pink gag, and… was that a penis-shaped stress ball? Who even invents this stuff? Genius! But oh my god.

You checked the box for any details, but nope—no name, just your unit number and address.

“It’s for my friend,” you blurted defensively, but your voice trailed off as the absurdity of explaining yourself hit you. Why are you explaining?

“Sure it is.”

You didn’t have to look at Jungkook to know his grin was now a full-on, teeth-baring smile. You could feel it.

Without saying another word, you quickly turned your back on him and hurriedly unlocked your door.

Once inside, you grabbed your phone, and angrily dialed the number for the suspect—

“Heyyy!” came the cheerful voice of Hwasa on the other end.

“Hwasa, I swear to God!” you started, feeling the panic rise in your chest. “Why did you send bridal party package to my new apartment?? We all agreed to send it to you!! Oh my God, my neighbor opened it, because our package got mixed up! He saw all those freakin dildos! Also, why didn’t they put a name on it?!”

“Girl, calm down! Why you panicking like this?” Hwasa said, her voice as chill as a cucumber. “First of all, I didn’t order it. It was Jen! Or was it Stace? Whatever! And it’s a discreet store, so they don’t slap your name on the box.”

“Make sure to fix this, okay?” you said, voice high-pitched with stress. “Send all orders to YOU from now on! I’m going to die of embarrassment here!”

“Oh my God, chill out! Why you so pressed about this neighbor seeing your fun box? What’s the deal, huh?” Hwasa teased, a mischievous grin in her voice. “Wait—hold up, is he cute? Is that why you’re shy shy?”

“I’ll tell you everything at the party, okay?” you huffed, trying to shake off the embarrassment. Then, you switched gears, like the best bridesmaids you are. “But seriously, we need to make sure Aera doesn’t suspect anything about her bridal shower, okay?”

🎯 mission: possible

Avoiding Jungkook became a serious mission. You had your reasons—perfectly rational reasons, mind you. It wasn’t like you were being dramatic or anything. It was just reason upon reason stacking up like a Jenga tower, each one reminding you why you needed to stay away from him and make sure nothing else added to the pile.

But humor me, you silently asked the universe: why did every encounter with him have to be either embarrassing or irritating?

Fortunately, you knew his schedule by now (thanks to the thin walls, but screw you still): he left just as you were getting up for school, and by the time you came home after work, it was late enough that he was probably already asleep.

No run-ins, no more awkward exchanges.

For three glorious weeks, your plan worked. You didn’t see him. Not once. It was bliss.

Lofi hip hop radio chill.

Jungkook-free, stress-free.

Perfect.

☕️ perfect!

It was one of those days that felt like it had lasted a year. Work was… well, work was always exhausting, your studies were an endless grind of beating deadlines and exams and lectures, and everything was going wrong. You got home, drained, and just wanted to curl up with a giant cup of coffee to prepare for your next round of studying.

But of course, your coffee maker had decided to just... stop working. Or something. And you had run out of instant coffee. Perfect.

You stood there, staring at it, willing it to work, until you finally snapped.

“Are you seriously kidding me?!” you screamed at the broken appliance, as though it would suddenly decide to come to life and apologize.

Frustrated, you suddenly craved some fresh air, so you grabbed your trash, decided to throw it out—along with the useless coffee maker—and unleashed your anger on the dumpster.

But frustration quickly morphed into full-blown rage, and for a moment, you felt like you wanted to fight someone. You were so angry that tears pricked at your eyes, as though crying was the only way to release it. But you wouldn’t.

So, instead, you kicked the garbage can. Only to hit your toes, causing you to squat in pain, while still hugging the coffee maker.

Now you were laughing, because the universe clearly hated you. Yes, definitely Mercury in retrograde. Nothing was fucking working!!!

And then, you heard footsteps approaching. You turned, and—of course—it was Jungkook.

Of all the days.

He gave you a concerned look. “You… okay?” he asked, tossing his trash into the large green bin.

“I’m fine. Just… you know, enjoying the ambiance. Haven’t really explored this part of the building.”

He stared at you, clearly not buying it. “Right. Well, if you need anything... I’m just next door.”

You gave him a tight smile and nodded, because, hey, if he didn’t see you having a full-on mental breakdown, it didn’t happen, right?

He didn’t see it, right?

🍬 easy fix

The next morning, you woke up with a headache, and an overwhelming sense of dread, bracing yourself for another long day. You got ready, but as you stepped out of your door, you froze.

There, sitting neatly beside it, was your coffee maker. Placed in a box, looking all shiny and clean.

And taped to it was a note, written in neat, handwritten scrawl: “It was an easy fix – JK.”

You blinked at it for a solid thirty seconds. What the hell?

You picked up the coffee maker and set it back where it belonged, plugged it in, and saw the ON button light up. You stood there, clutching your chest, staring at the note.

Jungkook had fixed your coffee maker. Just like that. He never had to, but he did. Out of the kindness of his heart?

This was... sweet? Too sweet?

And now, you were feeling things—things you weren't supposed to feel. Things like gratitude mixed with an embarrassing amount of attraction.

Listen... don’t judge, okay? If you’re a child who grew up with busy parents, barely seeing them, and left to tend to yourself, acts of service like this are dangerous.

Because they make you feel important. And loved. And other things you’d rather not name because it’s better that way.

But, you’re feeling things.

And it's making you uncomfortable.

Next ->

a/n: lmk in the comments if you want to be added to the taglist. I’d appreciate it if you let me know what you think! <3 Thank you and happy holidays if you’re celebrating! :)

Part one: