Stupid Hot Neighbor | Jungkook x Reader

1

As your heels clicked rhythmically on the busy streets, the sound was like a siren's call, drawing attention effortlessly. Heads turned, and eyes, particularly those of men, couldn't help but follow your every step as you strutted away with a confidence that was almost palpable. You relished that feeling, knowing exactly how you looked, and the power you wielded with even the smallest gestures—a flick of your hair, a casual glance over your shoulder. Men practically tripped over themselves, desperate to catch your eye, to be the one you favored, if only for a moment. The ability to choose any guy you wanted? Oh, you reveled in that freedom.

Now, let's be clear—you weren't out there breaking hearts for sport. You had no interest in toying with emotions or leaving a trail of broken dreams. You kept things light and casual, focusing your energy on those who caught your interest, maintaining clear boundaries and no strings attached. Your ambitions were centered on your career and the burgeoning business you were building, not on finding someone to settle down with.

Confidence was your hallmark. You exuded it in every aspect of your life, knowing exactly who you were and what you were capable of achieving. But then, everything shifted when your new neighbor moved in. "That stupid hot guy," you muttered under your breath, your thoughts racing as you navigated the bustling streets of New York. You were on your way to meet your friends at a swanky joint, a Friday night tradition that was as sacred as any ritual.

Friday nights were a cornerstone of your week. They were the times when you and your crew gathered to unwind, share stories, and plan the weekend. It was a time to grab some delicious food, maybe hit up a club if the mood struck, but the agenda was always fluid, adapting to the vibe of the evening. One thing was certain, though: Friday nights with your friends were non-negotiable, as essential as the air you breathed, just like the lunch date you had planned for the next day.

"Table for Persson," you said with casual assurance to the hostess, watching as she checked her iPad for your reservation before leading you to your table. The restaurant was buzzing with the lively hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the ambient music that set the perfect backdrop for the evening.

As you approached your table, you saw a familiar face already seated, a wide grin spreading across it. Lana Persson, your partner in crime since your college days in New York, your former roommate turned lifelong best friend, was waiting for you. Her presence was a comforting constant in your ever-evolving life.

"Hey," you greet her with a lack of enthusiasm, causing her smile to fade a bit. The usual sparkle in Lana's eyes dims slightly as she senses your mood.

"Don't act too thrilled to see me," she responds, her voice tinged with disappointment, as she places the menu back on the table, her eyes searching your face for an explanation.

"Sorry... it's not you," you express with frustration, running a hand through your hair. "It's that stupid guy, my new neighbor."

"Again? What's he done this time?" Lana asks, her curiosity piqued as she picks up the menu again, though her focus is clearly more on you than the list of appetizers.

"He put up a sign in the elevator of my building," you explain, annoyance etched on your face. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the irritation bubbling inside you. Lana raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled.

"What do you mean, a sign?" Confusion is evident on her face, while annoyance fills yours.

"Yeah, a fucking sign that says 'Dear 302 neighbor, if you're gonna fuck late at night, make sure your bed doesn't bang against the wall,'" you vent, your anger rising with each word. "And another neighbor even wrote 'I agree' on it." Lana tries to suppress a laugh, but you can tell she's struggling. Her lips twitch, and her eyes sparkle with barely contained amusement.