#or did I misunderstand something again?
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Billions must die, this is the type of father in cartoons who is constantly in the same face position for almost the entire cartoon, it seems as if he is always disappointed in his children(it already depends on you whether this is really the case or not), but at the end of the cartoon he will definitely smile at least a little to say "I'm proud of you", he wears muted shirts, loves cats, although he tells the others the opposite, and in his teenage years he had his own emo phase...

#wojak#billions must die#stupid post#talk talk talk#is it okay that I'm laughing sincerely from these fucking wojacks and their faces#or did I misunderstand something again?#(i can't this cat#I'm ready to explode just looking at it#it's so funny)#he has squidward voice#that's a fact#don't argue with me
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Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest
Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here
Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭
It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony
#the final confrontation was basically his first death again#and YES he Does want the Joker dead#and it would've been really really nice if Batman was the one who did it#but when batman made it clear he wouldn't kill the joker. Jason easily switched to saying “LET me kill the joker” to accommodate#because he Wanted batman to pass his test#he gave a test to dick too. and technically tim but it wasnt the family test it was a different one so it doesnt rly count#AFTER utrh and the reveal and the batarang you can go hog wild about it. i care less about it then#granted i do believe they make jason more scared of the joker after it at some point#i guess because hes a bit too willing to kill the joker and ive heard jason wasnt meant to live after utrh#my watsonian explain for that is he was so fixated on his plan he cpuld override his fear. or maybe the pit. either work#i prefer the fixation bc i dont like the explanation that the pit was the /only/ reason he could get all plan together and done#BUT THATS UNRELATED!!!#dc stop putting the joker in jason stories im begging you please please please. lock him in a vault for the next 20 years or something#it Cpuld be good and i understand. but also. after so long of people that dont know or go for jasons need for family and parents#that love him and he can trust#the joker starts to feel like?? hm. words. a cop out? oh haha its that guy that killed him woagh hes here#i bet you dont even know that jaybin got beat until unconsciousness by an angry mob#while asking batman to save him only for batman to have to walk away#anwya. where was i going with this#i think i got off topic#jason todd#dc comics#batman#ADDED AN EDIT. SORRY. this post has been haunting me it keeps me awake. what if people misunderstand#they cant read my tags where i ramble more depth. thisbis the only option#EDIT EDIT: hiii#removed the sentence abt jason having the joker for several days bc i misremembered some things#go read its-your-mind 's addition instead also#ok no more i wont edit this post anymore i promise
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despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,
theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.
#dungeon meshi#chilaios#OK SORRY. THE DEMONS. I REALLY DID NOT WANT TO LIKE THIS PAIRING. I DIDNT. BUT. HHH. FHFHJFJV. I FEEL CRAZY. LET ME EXPLAIN.#Pre canon it seems Laios is the person Chilchuck is really the closest to#He gets along with Namari and they are probably way better as buddies than he and Laios but#He and Laios seem *closer*#If that makes sense#Laios calls him his first name enough and without any issue or hesitation from Chilchuck#That I sort of inagine its not like. A misunderstanding. Laios is on a first name basis with him for a reason.#He also worries probably more than anyone about Laios#And his biggest criticism of him is that hes “reckless”#he’s comfortable around Laios in a very specific way and so is Laios around him#and in the series he shows many times that he’ll risk his life to protect Laios#Like staying with him to confront the elves because he was worried Laios would say something stupid#Hes the first one to run up to him when Falin punches him#I mean I think he was also going back for Falin like its not like I think he doesn’t care about her or anything#He clearly does#But I don’t know if he’d have gone back if Laios hadn’t#And if Laios had been eaten I think he wouldn’t have even had to be convinced by Falin#I also think Marcille would’ve gone back for him but probably more bc Falin was going back#Like sort of a reversed thing#AGAIN not that I don’t think she cared about Laios at the beginning either#But she before the story she was mostly Falin’s friend who knew Laios through Falin#She only really got to know him when Falin got eaten and they had to do a team building exercise#Though now I sort of want to see an actually reversed scenario#Bc we also know that Chilchuck is sort of uncomfortable around Falin (said in relationship chart)#So I would love to see them be forced into a team building exercise to find a person they both love the way Laios and Marcille were
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not to get dramatic but one of copia’s dissociative translations in his troubled head was seeing sister imperator’s saucer of pills as a mug of tea and biscuits. he’s clearly an unreliable narrator who sees things we can’t trust to be true; going off of this, can we trust that the mug of tea he was handed before the encore was actually that? who’s got time to down a whole mug of hot tea when you’ve still got three songs to perform? isn’t it a strange beverage to give him out of all the other options? don't get me wrong i'm absolutely not being serious here (also not insinuating that copia is ill like seestor, i'm going down the psychological route) but what i'm saying is he could have been handed medication he didn't want to acknowledge
#what i'm saying is he has some issues#so treatment for that was also replaced by something innocent and nice#i'm nervous of posting stuff like this because i always worry people will misunderstand my intent (<- autism) so just to be clear#i am NOT saying that i think this could have been an intentional choice in the film#i'm just being silly#'the curtains are red' moment#i'm acting like a girl who did 3 months of a film studies qualification then had to drop it and get serious about stem#sorry this is another consequence of the insane temperatures in this country rn#i feel out of it#the band ghost#rite here rite now#papa emeritus iv#alsooo i know those shots are not strictly from his pov unlike those where he sees the normal chair / cat tree / tea & biscuits#again. not serious#cheers#posting post-friday-night-drinks or i will end up deleting this
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i wish i could just press a button and fixate honestly. i miss fixating
#my post#i havent fixated since 2023 with good omens s2 (specifically season 2)#sometimes im scared ill never fixate again when i go a while without it#but i think thats a misunderstanding of how my brain is wired#either way im sad. i want a fixationnnn please please please please please please please please please please please please please please pl#the worst part is that that requires finding something new#i mean even when i fixated on a fandom i was already in (steven universe) it was because new content caused it at the time (suf)#but i dont get around to new stuff very much anymore. i try to! but most stuff has been because of recommendations#and i dont get to talk to people much anymore#like even just going off patterns. excluding when i was real young#it can either be angsty/emotional but sincere stuff (steven universe future for example)#or i love a dynamic between basically 2 people that also tends to be. well. romantic. like good omens s2! or uh. dan and phil-#i mean seriously just thinking about my list its really those two things isnt it#good omens s2 actually leaned into both honestly. it didnt lay heavy on the angst stuff until the end but man it went hard when it did#encanto was emotional but sincere. hlvrai had a fun dynamic (also it was just funny). vt was a dynamic#undertale was emotional (in some ways) but sincere#before that? fuck if i know why i obsessed over what i did. homestuck and mlp and adventure time#i feel like im forgetting something but im too lazy to open my carrd ajfhahd goodnight
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I had a 'how it feels to write more than three paragraphs without stopping' moment yesterday for the first time in 3758 years only to slam headlong into my oldest and most bewildering nemesis: geography
#i'm misunderstanding something bc i did the math and this is uh. not possible#not even in superhero sci fi future japan#which begs the question do i not know geography or do i not know math#or!! equally likely!! did i make an assumption and not realize it was an assumption and treat it as canon#girl where tf is this building#liza blather#scheduling for tomorrow bc it's stupid late again
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Gleb is actually the pro. Brooks is a super model. I feel like the fact that you didn't know which was which really highlights how terrible of a choreographer Gleb is though
oops 🙈but also
yeah lmao so true like i honestly thought because he doesn’t really do much, he was the “star,” and his dancing reminds me how a lot of the guy contestants start off in this show (stiff and just standing there) soooooooooo
not a good look for them
#why they’re even that high on the leaderboard is beyond me#at least the sole focus on Brooke doing most of the dance work makes sense again#he’s still just standing there (sure he does SOME things but not enough to garner something like an 8)#now i’m trying to think why i thought Brooke was the pro 💀 where did i begin my misunderstanding…..#asks#dancing with the stars
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I feel like I’m going crazy with everyone talking about how good the pjo show is 😭
#pjo tv crit#it’s like… bad tho#like don’t get me wrong I’m enjoying it#but as an adaptation it’s changing too many core elements of the books and making them worse#(im looking at you Gabe and Sally)#and as a show it’s so poorly paced with such weightless action that nothing feels truly dangerous#*except for the percy being poisoned thing… that was the first time they did something right#like again I’m enjoying it (Grover is my favorite character) but I’m enjoying it even though it’s bad not cause it’s good#could’ve been good in a different world but it just isn’t which is so dissapointing#some of the things they add could’ve added to the overall story#like this version of Medusa was slay and what they’re doing with Athena is cool#but so much of it is either just a bad show or a really bad version of pjo#the movies suck for the same reason the show doesn’t work for me-they’re misunderstanding why the books work#idk I feel like I’m going crazy cause I haven’t seen people mention the things that feel glaringly obvious
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Continuity gets a little murky but I'm shook remembering how complicated Rose Tyler's relationships are outside the Doctor and thinking it's no wonder Jackie and Mickey were so upset about him.
Beyond the obvious, teen Rose running away to live with Jimmy Stone, a full adult, before he's carted away to prison is bonkers. There's no way Jackie wasn't thinking about Jimmy when Nine stepped into the picture. It's a miracle Jackie didn't kill him on the spot.
I want to pick all of them apart and study them (Rose and Mickey particularly) separately, then look at them as a whole. It's fascinating to see how their behavior in "Rose" and onward is disagreeable, but to also dig into them and see where that behavior comes from and why.
#anyway i think the tylers and mickey are actually a lot more dysfunctional and have a lot more issues than i think canon really touches#and i feel like those issues are understandably too serious for a show like doctor who to have time or want to explore#but i do think about them sometimes. and i wonder how unhappy rose must have been and how scared jackie was and?? idk.#mickey too really with all his abandonment problems and stuff with his mom. it's all a bit sad.#idk. i feel like people give rose a lot of crap for how she treated mickey and crap for mickey being jealous and whiny#and imo they both did some bad things to each other but like.#those two have so many problems. they were what each other needed at the time i think but they were also bad for each other and#not what they needed in the long run. i dont think its a case of one being ''worse'' its just a case of not being ''right'' yk?#i feel similarly with ten and martha tbh.#ten could have been more aware of her but he didnt owe loving her back romantically.#likewise martha sometimes seemed weirdly entitled to his affection (at first) but she was right to feel slighted by him for his carelessnes#again a case of two people who aren't ''wrong'' or ''worse'' they're just not ''right'' and i kinda hate how#ten and martha and rose and mickey are always pitted against each other. it's such a misunderstanding of how emotions and people and#relationships work or don't work i think.#anyway i got off on a tangent whoops. i'm just wondering about the drama and struggle of pre-docror tylers + mickey. there's something to#pick apart there i think.#merri mumbles
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웃 : An existing character you’ve played in the past that you miss?
Munday Symbol Questions || Accepting for 22 hours ||
@hxpelessnurse
웃 : An existing character you’ve played in the past that you miss?
[{ ☠ }] - "Evenin' folks. The name is Jim- er.. ah' mean, John, Marston. I might be lookin' like some average, dumb' ol' cowpoke. But be warned friend, I didn't get these scars on my face fer-nothin'."
Yeah, that guy. RDR's loveable honest, idiot, John Marston. After a past bad experience within the Persona community (This was a while ago now) I retreated to the RDR fandom as old wolf-scar Marston.
Honestly, I still do miss the muse, quite a bit. But my blog never picked up enough, and my muse kind of just left and never came back. He wasn't just some character I used as a rebound muse either. I loved John Marston, and still do. It's just hard to get back into his character, especially getting used to his mannerisms and speech again which was a bit of a chore since it was mostly old Wild West slang and figures of speech from that time period.
Many times, I've had to google a word for every reply just to make sure I was using the correct word and term lol
One of these days though, I would really love to revive him again. I enjoyed writing that loveable cowman. Hopefully, I can get back to him sooner rather than later.hxpl
#Munday meme#tʜᴇbʟᴜᴇʙᴇʀʀɪᴇsaʀᴇmɪssɪɴɢ ( ooc )#Man I loved ol Johnny boy#But he never picked up much#I did make a friend in that fandom#But we had a falling out due to a misunderstanding of some sort. Still confused on what happened even to this day tbh#Might have played a part in me leaving that blog#Anyway I do love the muse and hope to being ol John Marston back again#I just really need the drive for him again -- something to motivate me to return.#Anyway thank you for the question Kate~#hxpelessnurse
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#i’m kind of really heartbroken right now#so i had tickets to the hot freaks concert and went tonight—which i don’t mind posting on here because i live several hours away#so basically i drove to the venue for several hours and stopped like once for food#it was my understanding that windsor was opening and then the hot freaks and then the happy fits i guess but i didn’t know the exact times#we were running a bit late bc of the road trip and walked in at 7:25 (the show started at 7) and i got to see the tail end of ‘boyfriend’#& i was like ‘oh okay i just missed their first song’ but then they walked off stage and my heart dropped. i missed everything#and yeah it’s on me because i must have had a misunderstanding about how the show worked#i’d never even heard of a show where an act performs for 20-25 minutes unless it’s like a variety show or something#i did cry about it already and just tried to have a good rest of the night since we’d already driven for hours#i got to meet the band at the merch table which was really cool and they gave me a free signed CD & sticker & friendship bracelet because—#they felt bad for me. which was very sweet (i also bought a shirt)#i know i should be grateful i was even able to go to the concert. and i still had fun but part of me will always be heartbroken#because financially/geographically it’s not smart to go to another show even further away just to see a 25 minute set when i’ve already got#the merch & all. plus i can listen to them on Spotify#i can only hope they come to a location closer to where i live#but there’s no guarantee because they’re so underground. they only resurfaced because of stupid tiktok & they’re only popular enough to be—#half of an opening act. so they could potentially never go on tour again#if i had more of a platform i would boost their music more but i don’t#i know it’ll be okay. it’s just a lot of things have been going shitty lately and i thought this would make me feel better and it just—#went to shit#tw vent#rose.txt
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I think one reason why for most my life i've been so....obsessed with? interested in? that idea of working with another creative person and creating together (anything from art, videos, etc) is because i've never been able to form a real or solid human connection. even my closest friendships have left me feeling disconnected...at my core, i've come to raise creating is my main connection to this world and my existence in it. so to create with another person is to connect them to my world and my existence. through creating something together, perhaps I can find and feel a true and genuine connection with another human for the first time in my life....something that simply talking to people and being around them can never do for me. (but it also requires them to be in the same wavelength as me or the disconnect will remain)
maybe one day I cam experience what its like to connect with other humans and feel like I actually belong among them as one.....everything i've tried or done so far has basically been alone and not given me any true or lasting connections to other people. what's that like, to truly connect to others?
#just the ramblings of an autistic creature#lee rambles#i think this is a reason dping gta rp was such a huge important thing to me. i felt like i was finally experiencing connection with others#because we were creating stories together. it was a group effort and we were all so into it.....until we weren't#and i learned the connections i felt were mostly one sided. but there were a few. and it was SO CLOSE#to what ive been looking for and need. so close yet still not it. so i crave to try again and get there. but i cant do that again#so i need something else. dont know what though.....not sure ill ever find it#i tried with art. i did ONE art collab and it resulted in a huge misunderstanding and me getting bullied so complete opposite of what i want#so im afraid to try art again#i tried many many times to make music with other people and it never worked. they all ended up rejecting me before we even tried
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Merrill Tag Drop
🌼
Merrill is a Dalish elven mage and First to the Keeper of the Sabrae Clan. She is a temporary companion in the Dalish Elf origin in Dragon Age Origins and a companion and love interest in Dragon Age 2.
Default World State: Fixed the Eluvian, clan Sabrae spared/saved
IRL FC: Meng Zhang in Ice Fantasy
🌼 sacrifices must be made to reclaim what has been lost: about merrill sabrae 🌼 i was never that good with people: merrill sabrae headcanons 🌼 i haven't exactly had many friends: merrill sabrae relationships 🌼 the dalish apostate: merrill sabrae visage 🌼 there's no such thing as a good spirit: merrill sabrae musings 🌼 i thought all those men looked a bit cross: merrill sabrae interactions 🌼 did i miss something again?: merrill sabrae asks 🌼 blood magic and eluvians: merrill sabrae aesthetics 🌼 it's romantic isn't it?: merrill sabrae smut 🌼 mistranslations can lead to large misunderstandings: merrill sabrae crack
#🌼 sacrifices must be made to reclaim what has been lost: about merrill sabrae#🌼 i was never that good with people: merrill sabrae headcanons#🌼 i haven't exactly had many friends: merrill sabrae relationships#🌼 the dalish apostate: merrill sabrae visage#🌼 there's no such thing as a good spirit: merrill sabrae musings#🌼 i thought all those men looked a bit cross: merrill sabrae interactions#🌼 did i miss something again?: merrill sabrae asks#🌼 blood magic and eluvians: merrill sabrae aesthetics#🌼 it's romantic isn't it?: merrill sabrae smut#🌼 mistranslations can lead to large misunderstandings: merrill sabrae crack
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it started innocently—really, it did.
you had no idea the chaos you were about to unleash when, that first time, you pulled your phone out at dinner to capture the gorgeous table spread.
you aren't some influencer, you don't have an aesthetic food page or anything. you just like saving the memories. you like looking back at the colors of the dishes, the way the warm lights catch the steam rising from a bowl of ramen, or the glistening sheen of freshly grilled corn. it makes you happy.
but nanami kento—who sits across from you at that table, handsome in his pressed white button-up and tie still a little too tight against his throat even though the workday has ended—mistakes your angle.
his gaze flicks up from his plate, catching you just as you are angling your phone. and for a brief moment, his face freezes.
then—composed, but stiff—he straightens his spine and fixes his tie.
you blink. "what... what are you doing?"
"you could've warned me if you were going to take a photo of me," he murmurs, eyes dropping to his food. "i must look ridiculous while eating."
the words catch you so off guard that you barely manage a confused laugh, and the words i wasn't taking a photo of you! i was taking a photo of the table, of the food don't come. instead, you stutter, "oh, well, i—"
kento nods, but his eyes don't meet yours. he simply spears a piece of potato and says, "of course."
you meant to correct him properly. you meant to explain. but watching the slight pink creep up the tips of his ears—the usually unflappable nanami kento, embarrassed at the thought of you taking his picture—you hesitate.
and then you just never said anything.

the next time it happens, it's sushi.
a fancy little place you pick because you know kento likes it—quiet, clean, no frills but top-tier quality. you're practically bouncing in your seat by the time the chef slides the first omakase platter in front of you, every piece glistening, delicate, artful.
you pull out your phone.
kento, mid-reach for his cup of tea, freezes again. just like last time.
then slowly—almost robotically—he sets the cup down, places his hands neatly on his lap, and gives you the most stilted half-smile you've ever seen.
you pause, staring at him. "kento—"
"it's alright," he says quickly. "i understand. people like documenting memories. i just. i just wasn't prepared. that's all."
you really should clear the misunderstanding right now.
but instead, a laugh bubbles out of you. "alright. then—hold still."
and you snap a photo. of him. not the food. him.
the photo is terrible—he's as stiff as a board, his jaw locked, and he looks like he's posing for a passport photo at gunpoint.
but it's cute. in the way kento always is, without ever meaning to be.

it becomes a thing after that. you don't even know how.
every time you take your phone out, kento will assume the position. stiff shoulders, straight spine, polite smile.
and every time, you can't bring yourself to tell him that no—really—you're just trying to take a photo of the food.
but by the fourth or fifth outing, something shifts.
kento starts asking, carefully neutral, "do you want me to sit differently? or is this alright?"
and that? that cracks something in you.
"no," you laugh, breathless. "you're perfect."
the words slip out before you can stop them.
kento blinks once, then twice. then he looks down quickly, ears flushing crimson. "i see."
after that, it's like he's resigned himself. if you pull your phone out, he waits. patient, polite, quietly ready.
so you start taking photos. of him. on purpose.

at the cafe, with the tiny cappuccino cup too delicate in his large hands—snap.
at the bakery, applying jam to the slice of freshly baked bread—snap.
at the park, sitting stiffly on the bench while you both have ice cream—snap.
"you're building a collection, aren't you?" kento asks one evening, watching you put your phone down with a barely-contained smile.
you start. "what?"
"photos. of me." his voice is flat, but his eyes—his eyes are soft, just the slightest glint of amusement there. "i'm assuming you have a folder by now."
you flush. "i—no—maybe."
kento lets out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. "you could just ask, you know."
you blink. "ask?"
"if you want a picture," he says, clearing his throat. "i don't mind. but maybe then—maybe i could try not to look like a stiff idiot."
you laugh, loud and bright, and kento flinches like he's just startled a bird.
"you don't look like an idiot," you say, wiping your eyes. "you look like you. that's perfect to me."
kento stares at you for a long, quiet moment. and then—unexpected, a tiny miracle—he smiles. a real one. the kind that softens all the lines of his face, that crinkles his eyes just enough.
"that might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me," he murmurs.
you open your mouth, close it, then grin. "well, get used to it. you're stuck with me, nanami kento. my photo album's already proof."
kento gives a long-suffering sigh, but his hand—warm, steady—reaches out across the table, brushing yours.
"i suppose," he says, almost fond, "i can live with that."

seven months later, you've built a whole gallery. and when kento catches you looking through it one night—tired from work, tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up—he doesn't say a word.
he just kisses the top of your head, quietly, and murmurs, "just let me know next time, hm? i want to look good for you."
and that is how your silly little secret turns into the softest thing you've ever shared with him.

#wen writes.#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk drabbles#nanami drabbles#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento fluff#nanami fluff#nanami kento#nanami
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A Jar Full of Us | one-shot
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.
Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.
Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before
Word count: 10.2K+
Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.
MOODBOARD
A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)
The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.
It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.
Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.
A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.
Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.
A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:
Jungkook remembers the little things.
Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.
Jungkook.
Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.
This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.
You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.
Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.
You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.
But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.
And you're going to keep it a secret forever.
You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.
You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.
"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.
With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."
Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.
That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.
From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.
The box was almost full now.
You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:
Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.
His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.
His eyes smile before his lips do.
But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.
I love him.
The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.
Especially not Jungkook.
One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.
But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.
Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.
You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"
"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.
A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.
Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."
Your heart stopped. "What?"
"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."
Silence.
A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.
"You WHAT?!"
Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.
But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.
No. No. No.
This couldn't be happening.
Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.
Empty.
It was gone.
The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.
And now it was in Jungkook's hands.
Of all people…Jungkook.
Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.
Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.
He hadn’t seen it yet.
He couldn’t have seen it yet.
As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.
What if he had already opened it?
What if he read through every single note?
What if he found the one that said I love him?
Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.
Jungkook was your best friend.
He was your person.
And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.
The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.
And then…there was that moment.
The moment you almost confessed.
"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.
And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."
But you swallowed them down.
Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?
And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.
The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.
Would he laugh?
Would he think it was weird?
Would he—
Would he reject you?
No. No. No.
You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.
That was the plan.
It had to work.
As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.
Box 109.
You yanked it open.
Empty.
Your stomach sank.
Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.
You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.
No response.
You knocked again, harder this time.
Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Jungkook.
Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.
But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.
And the world stopped.
The box.
The open box.
Your box.
Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.
You felt like you were going to be sick.
No, no, no, no—
"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"
Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.
Oh. Oh no.
Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.
His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.
He cleared his throat, then read aloud.
"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."
Silence.
It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.
You thought you might actually pass out.
"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.
And then, to your absolute horror—
He smiled.
Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.
And then—oh god—he spoke again.
"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"
Your breath hitched.
Your brain went blank.
You wanted to scream.
The change was almost instant.
In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.
Not in the way you had imagined, though.
You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.
But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.
It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.
And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.
Instead, he turned it into a joke.
Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.
"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"
You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.
It was unbearable.
He kept doing it.
Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.
Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.
"So I look best in black? Good to know."
And then he walked away.
That was when you finally got the message.
Jungkook had taken it as a joke.
He didn’t care about your feelings.
It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.
And worst of all?
He was pulling away from you completely.
The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.
It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.
Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…
He wouldn’t push you away like this.
The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.
Or so you thought.
Because that’s when you saw him.
And he wasn’t alone.
He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.
A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.
Your stomach twisted.
You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.
If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?
Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.
A silent rejection.
What a jerk.
These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.
Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.
Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.
You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.
Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.
The thought makes your chest ache.
Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.
And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.
You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.
But now?
Now he barely looks at you.
And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.
The person you were most angry at was Joy.
Not Jungkook. Not yourself.
Joy.
Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.
That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.
“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”
She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.
But then she saw your face.
Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”
You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.
You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”
You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”
Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”
You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”
Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”
You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”
Silence settled between you both.
And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.
The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.
They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.
Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”
Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.
As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.
You’ve already been replaced.
Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.
It isn’t.
You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.
You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.
Even if he doesn’t love you back.
Even if he only sees you as a friend.
Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.
So, you do the only thing you can think of.
You wait for him after class.
Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.
Taking a deep breath, you step forward.
"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."
Jungkook halts mid-step.
His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.
"You don’t understand," he mutters.
"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"
Silence.
Jungkook doesn’t reply.
And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.
There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.
After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.
You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.
But you already know Jungkook will be there.
Probably Hana too.
And that's fine.
You'll just stay out of their way.
The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.
A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.
Jungkook is nowhere in sight.
Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.
With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.
But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.
And then you sense it—someone else's presence.
You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.
Jungkook.
You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.
Your heart stumbles in your chest.
The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.
“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”
Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.
He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.
Just like that.
The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.
The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.
Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.
You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.
Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.
But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.
Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.
He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.
Your heart clenches.
Is it for Hana?
You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.
February 10th. Your birthday.
You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?
Surely.
So you wait.
By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.
Not even a single text.
The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.
That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.
"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.
Your heart leaps.
Jungkook?
You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.
It’s from your parents.
Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.
"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.
There was still time.
It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.
Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."
But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."
She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."
Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.
Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.
If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.
Jungkook didn’t text that day.
He forgot your birthday.
You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.
The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.
Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.
It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.
You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.
You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.
But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.
Great. Just great.
Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.
You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—
But you don’t hit the ground.
Because Jungkook catches you.
His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.
He doesn’t let go of you immediately.
His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.
The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.
All that’s left is him.
Still holding you.
Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.
“Do you even care, Jungkook?”
His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.
But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.
So fast that you nearly stumble again.
"No, Y/N. I don’t."
His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.
Then he turns. Walks away.
And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.
This is it.
This is your answer.
Jungkook has made his choice.
And now, it’s time for you to make yours.
You have to move on.
That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.
It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.
Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.
The pink heart-shaped box.
Your breath hitches.
You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.
For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.
Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.
One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.
"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."
"His laugh is my favorite sound."
"I wish he knew how much he means to me."
Tears blur your vision.
You never wanted him to know.
Because you never wanted to lose him.
And now, you have.
The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.
You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.
You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.
So tonight, you let the dams break.
And you cry yourself to sleep.
It’s Valentine’s Day.
You feel miserable.
Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.
So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.
Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.
You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.
You miss it.
No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.
Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.
Then the doorbell rings.
You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.
But it rings again.
What is Joy doing?
Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.
With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—
But there’s no one there.
Your gaze drops to the ground.
And then you see it.
A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.
You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.
Where have you seen something like this before?
Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.
With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.
That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.
"To Y/N."
Your heart stutters.
You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.
It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.
Your mind starts spiraling.
What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?
Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.
You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.
With bated breath, you pull one out.
You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.
"I lied."
That’s all it says.
Two words.
Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.
Jungkook.
Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.
It’s his.
The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.
Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—
Yesterday.
The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.
You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.
You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you even care, Jungkook?"
You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.
But instead—
"No, Y/N. I don’t."
His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.
And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.
You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.
But now—
Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.
"I lied."
Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.
Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:
"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."
A sharp pang strikes your chest.
Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.
“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”
Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
No apology. No denial. Nothing.
And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.
"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.
The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.
Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.
"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."
Your breath hitches.
He didn’t forget?
He chose not to text?
A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.
You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.
What you didn’t know was—
Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.
He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.
Because words were permanent.
Because he was afraid.
Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.
And that terrified him.
Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.
"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."
Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—
The library.
That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.
At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.
A jar.
The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.
Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.
But it wasn’t.
It was for you.
Every note in this jar was for you.
Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.
He had been writing to you all along.
By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.
Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.
"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."
A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.
You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.
Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.
And now, you finally know.
Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.
With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.
“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”
Your chest tightens.
You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.
“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”
The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.
After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.
And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.
The moment the words register, you don’t think.
The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.
You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.
Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?
Then, you see him.
A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.
But you do.
“Jungkook!”
He freezes.
You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.
His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.
You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”
Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.
Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”
Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.
"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"
Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.
"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"
He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.
"Because I was a coward."
You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."
Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."
His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.
"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.
"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"
His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.
"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."
Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.
You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.
You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."
Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.
"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."
He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.
"Say it now," you whisper.
Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.
You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.
He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.
"Y/N…"
You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.
His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.
"I love you."
A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.
Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.
"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."
Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.
"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"
Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.
"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."
Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."
He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.
"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"
Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.
Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.
The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.
Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.
You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.
When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.
Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.
Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”
You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”
Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.
“Deal,” he murmurs.
And then he kisses you again.
The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.
His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.
You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."
The words break something inside him.
His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.
A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.
"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.
His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.
He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.
"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.
Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.
Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.
Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.
His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.
"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.
You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.
His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.
"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.
His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."
And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.
The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.
Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.
Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.
You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.
It’s you who finally breaks it.
“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”
His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.
“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”
You blink. “…What?”
Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”
You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”
Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”
Of course, she did.
You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”
Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”
You glare at him. “Shut up.”
His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.
Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”
Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”
Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.
“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.
Y/N, will you be my Valentine?
Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.
You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”
Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”
Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.
It had always been him.
Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.
Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
So you close the distance.
You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.
And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”
Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.
Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.
Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.
Not to make up for lost time.
But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.
And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.
EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day
The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.
It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”
Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.
But this time, there’s something else.
Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.
You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.
Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.
Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”
You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”
He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”
Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.
"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"
Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”
You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”
“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”
You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—
"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."
His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.
Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.
You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.
Because you’d already found them.
Because you’d found him.
And maybe that was the answer all along.
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thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook angst#jungkook imagine#jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook jeon#bts smut#bts army#bts ff#bts#bts imagine#bts imagines#bts incorrect quotes#bts jungkook#fan fiction#jungkook fanfic#bts ffs#bts ff recs#jungkook ff#valentines day#jungkook fluff#to all the boys i've loved before#tatbilb#idiots to lovers#best frinends to lovers
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"mama!"
your seven year old daughter climbed onto your bed, bouncing on the mattress before settling into your warm embrace under the blankets. running a hand through her pink hair, you answered softly, "yes, sweetheart?"
it was almost like your genes didn't put up a fight at all. your child, chikara, was the spitting image of her father, your husband, ryomen sukuna. same hair, same face shape, same facial features, the only thing that seemed to be your contribution was her personality, and even then, sometimes you'll see your husband's characteristic scowl on her little face
"how did you and daddy meet?" "well, it was–"
"what's goin' on in here? conspiring against me?" sukuna's voice filled the room as he leaned against the door frame, a cheeky smirk on his face. you saw your daughter's face brighten up as she jumped down to run to her father, "daddy! daddy! mommy's gonna tell the story of when you first met!" sukuna immediately looked at you, his index finger barely being fully wrapped by his daughter's hand
"she asked me to. guess watching all those romantic dramas with her rubbed off on her." you giggled, earning a scowl from him. "shut it woman. you know i hate them." "yeah..., that's definitely why we watch 90 day fiance every sunday together." "you got a problem with— stop tryna move me brat!"
"but daddyyyyy," she whined, still pushing against sukuna's body, "i don't wanna miss mommy's story!" "we're literally seven feet away from her."
your daughter pouted and stopped trying to get her dad to move. letting go of his finger, and leaving him at the doorway, chikara plopped herself down at your side with wide, eager eyes, "go on, mommy, tell me! i wanna know everything."
you smiled, looking at sukuna, who rolled his eyes but gave a small nod. "alright, sweetheart. it all started one day in the park when i was watching over megumi, and your dad was taking care of his younger brother, yuuji…"
"yuuji?" chikara interrupted, her face lighting up. "uncle yuuji was there too?"
"yep, yuuji was just a little kid back then," you said with a soft laugh. "he was running around, being his usual energetic self, when he tripped and scraped his knee. your dad, being the great caretaker he is—"
"—i was plenty good at it," sukuna muttered
you shot him a look and continued, "—didn't seem too worried. he told yuuji to stop crying."
"i did not say it like that," sukuna cut in, pushing off the doorframe and coming closer to the bed. "i told him to toughen up. gotta learn how to handle a few scrapes."
your daughter giggled, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. "but mommy's a nurse, so she went over to help, right?"
"exactly. i couldn't just sit there watching, so i went over, knelt down, and started cleaning yuuji's knee. and i told your father—" you paused, giving sukuna a mischievous smile, "—that he should care more about his son instead of telling him to stop crying."
your daughter gasped dramatically, eyes wide with anticipation. sukuna groaned, running a hand over his face. "i knew you'd bring that up."
"and what did daddy say?" she asked, leaning in as if she could hardly wait
"he looked at me and said, 'that's not my son, that's my brother,'" you mimicked sukuna’s low, irritated tone. "i was so embarrassed!" sukuna chuckled at the memory, shaking his head. "you should've seen your mom’s face. all high and mighty, like she was about to call child protection services on me or something."
you couldn't help but laugh, too. "anyway, i patched yuuji up, and to make up for the misunderstanding, your dad suggested we set up a playdate for yuuji and megumi."
"a playdate?"
"yup," you nodded. "though i think your dad might've had other reasons for giving me his number." sukuna scoffed, folding his arms. "that didn’t happen."
you raised an eyebrow at him. "oh? so your eyes didn’t sparkle when i smiled and told you goodbye?" sukuna groaned again, this time louder. "my eyes did not do that."
chikara giggled harder, clearly enjoying the banter. "i think daddy liked you right away!" you smiled softly. "maybe he did. i mean, why else would he take me to a skate park for our first date?" sukuna rolled his eyes. "you said you wanted to learn how to skate. i was just being nice."
"uh-huh. sure," you teased. "and he was so good at it, zooming around, showing off. i'll admit..., he did look kinda cool! i, on the other hand, spent most of the time falling."
"which is why i had to keep catching you," sukuna added, sliding into the empty space next to you on the bed. "mommy fell? did daddy save you?" chikara asked, her face lighting up at the idea
sukuna ruffled her pink hair. "more like i had to stop her from breaking every bone in her body." you rolled your eyes at him. "i wasn't that bad."
"yes, you were," sukuna said, smirking. "you almost took me down with you half the time." smiling at the memory, you leaned in to kiss your daughter's forehead. "but it was fun. and after that, we went out for ice cream, and your dad actually smiled for real that time."
"daddy smiled? really?"
sukuna shot you a half-hearted glare. "i smile."
"not back then you didn't," you teased, poking his arm. chikara turned to her dad, beaming. "i wanna learn to skate, too, just like you and mommy!" sukuna chuckled, wrapping an arm around her
"maybe one day, brat. but you’re probably gonna fall as much as your mom did."
"hey!"

gulp... sorry if sukuna is ooc, im tired and im on my period but i really liked this request so...
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