operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru
synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.
contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably
notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P
The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.
Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.
“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.
“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.
“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”
“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”
You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”
“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”
You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”
He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”
“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”
He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”
You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.
His glasses are tilted again. Of course.
You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”
“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”
You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”
“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look.
“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”
You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”
It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.
He doesn’t say anything.
You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.
But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.
Another type. That’s not you.
“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”
He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”
“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”
He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”
“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”
He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”
You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.
You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.
But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.
So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”
He goes still.
His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.
“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”
His jaw tightens.
You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”
He finally turns to look at you.
His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.
You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.
Then he shrugs.
“…Nah.”
It slices through the air with quiet finality.
Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.
You laugh. It sounds forced.
“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”
He’s silent.
You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”
“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”
Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.
“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.
And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue.
You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.
It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.
You’d been doomed since day one.
And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.
But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”
You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.
“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”
“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”
You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”
“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”
You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”
Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.
Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”
You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”
Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”
You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”
She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”
You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”
Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”
You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”
Utahime grinned.
“Whatcha doing?”
Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.
You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”
The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.
He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”
You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.
“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.
You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”
His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”
“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”
“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”
Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.
“Satoru!”
“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”
Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”
“Nothing~”
You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.
“Give it back!”
“Patience.”
“Gojo Satoru—”
“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.
You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.
“…What did you do?”
“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”
You narrow your eyes, suspicious.
“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”
“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”
“Good.”
The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.
You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”
He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”
You snort. “You are a guy.”
“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”
You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”
“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”
The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.
You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.
“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”
Silence.
It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.
Gojo freezes.
You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”
But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”
You blink.
And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.
“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”
You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.
You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.
Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.
You want to scream.
Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?
Yeah. Not going great.
Not at all.
You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.
Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.
“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”
You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.
But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.
When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.
He didn’t notice you at first.
Then he looked up.
His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.
“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”
You blinked. “Hi to you too.”
He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.
He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”
You blinked.
Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.
And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.
You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”
“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”
Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.
But the moment passed.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”
Different.
Not better. Not prettier.
Just different.
You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.
“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.
In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines.
What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.
He didn’t even notice.
“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.
He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”
Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”
Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”
It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.
Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”
Exactly. That was the point.
You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.
“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”
Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—
Satoru.
In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.
You blink. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”
“At this café? On this side of campus?”
“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”
Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”
“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”
“…Kazuya.”
“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”
You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”
But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”
Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”
“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”
Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”
“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”
Gojo beams. “Told you.”
Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.
“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”
“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”
You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”
Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”
“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”
Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”
You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.
“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”
“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.
“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.
By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.
Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,
“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”
The question hangs awkwardly.
You and Satoru answer at the same time.
“No,” you say quickly.
“Yes,” he says with a smile.
You both turn to stare at each other.
“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”
Kazuya blinks. “Right.”
You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.
“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.
Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”
You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.
Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.
Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.
You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”
“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”
“By who?”
“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.
You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.
“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”
You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.
“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.
“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.
You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”
He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”
You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.
You don’t answer.
You don’t have to.
Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.
Almost good, even.
Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.
You let yourself believe it, just a little.
And that was your first mistake.
It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.
You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:
“So, guess who asked me out?”
You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”
“Ayane.”
The name hits you like a slap.
You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”
“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”
You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.
She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.
But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.
“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”
You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”
“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins.
Your stomach sinks.
This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.
But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.
“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”
He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.
Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.
It’s that he chose her.
Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.
You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.
He doesn’t follow.
You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.
For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.
You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”
You go silent.
And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.
You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.
It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.
And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.
You weren’t just losing your best friend.
You were losing the love of your life.
And he didn’t even notice.
It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.
Well—no. That’s a lie.
He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”
But he tells himself you’re busy.
Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.
So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.
But then Friday comes.
And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—
You’d be making fun of me right now.
You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.
Ayane is lovely.
But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.
She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.
He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.
Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.
And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.
He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.
No new messages.
Just the last one you sent days ago:
“Laundry. Rain check?”
And nothing since.
He waits. Another day. Then two.
You don’t show up to class again.
You don’t like his latest meme.
You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.
You are silent.
And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.
That he didn’t just lose a study partner.
He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.
The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.
And for the first time since he was a kid—
He’s afraid.
It’s been a little over a week.
A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.
And Satoru is suffering.
He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.
But you were always one step ahead.
You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.
Gojo Satoru is just tired.
Miserable.
So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.
You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.
“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.
He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”
You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”
Gojo looks down at his feet.
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.
Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”
You glance up.
“I can’t either.”
Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”
“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”
The words stop him cold.
“What?” he breathes.
You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”
His heart stutters. You don’t stop.
“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”
He looks like he’s been hit.
“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”
You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.
And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.
Not yet.
Not until he stops you from walking away.
“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.
“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”
Your breath catches.
He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.
“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”
You gape.
“Wait—”
“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”
You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.
“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”
You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”
“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”
He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.
“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”
A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.
“You idiot,” you murmur.
“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”
Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.
“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”
You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.
“It’s not too late,” you whisper.
He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.
Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.
“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.
And then, finally, he kisses you.
It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..
When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”
Summary: You fiance has not once shown up to your wedding planning dates, in fact, he barely shows up at all. After ten months of being engaged and still no wedding or even solid plans for the ceremony, you seek comfort by adopting a cat that randomly showed up on your porch the same day Minho was supposed to go on a business trip.
Or... Minho gets karma for being a bad fiance by being turned into a cat.
"So I should schedule our wedding planner interviews by the third week?" You try to catch his eyes, but they were everywhere but on you. It's been like that for a while.
Minho busies himself packing a suitcase, letting out a half-minded hum. "Why can't you schedule it any other day? You're available."
Because you want it to be with him. You wanted to think of the motif with him, the flowers, the decorations, the guests, the cake flavor, the venue, the rings. It should be about you and him, not just you.
But... perhaps you're being too sentimental. You look at Minho now as the successful CEO he became from all his hardwork, he's serious, strategic, stoic. Unlike the Minho you met in your senior year of high school, the one that was silly, loud, and cheeky, sneakily slipping into your heart by acting both nonchalant while seemingly never getting enough of your attention.
Almost like a cat.
Maybe the Minho now isn't the type to want to be involved in menial things like planning the wedding, in fact, it seems as if he has no plans to be wed anytime at all, he's much too busy now.
You look down at your ring, a glimmering diamond adorned it while the metal that wraps around your finger forms into swoops that border the diamond. It's very beautiful, though he never explained to you why he chose that design, you always find yourself admiring the ring, a symbol of a future with him.
You smiled, trying to ease your feelings as you always do. "I'll keep that in mind." You answered, leaving the conversation to die once again.
...
It rained the day he left for the business trip, the sky mirroring your feelings of sorrow as you're reminded that he'll probably be a ghost the whole two weeks.
He's already pretty elusive when he's there, staying at the office late and going in early in the morning. You've always been thankful for him, providing for you even before you got engaged and letting you quit your less than ideal office job when he did propose.
Your thoughts were cut off when rough scratching rings from the door, panicked mews accompanying them as you rush to open.
A tuxedo cat barges into the house as if it lived there, grumbling in annoyance as it pounces on the rug to dry itself from the rain.
As it does so, it starts to screech at you. "Y/N, Y/N, it's me! I'm Minho, I have no idea what happened, but you need to call an ambulance or a vet, or even a wizard!"
"Honey, honey, it's okay, you're safe here..."
"No the hell it's not okay! I got turned into a cat!"
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." You gently shush the cat, stepping closer inch by inch.
"Can't you understand me?!"
"Aww, I wish I can understand what you're meowing about, honey."
"...I'm doomed."
It was supposed to be a normal day for Minho, an unluckly, but albeit normal day. As he's about to leave for the airport from the office, he realized he forgot some documents at home.
He decided to leave his luggage in his office and drive back home to get the documents. As luck would have it, his car breaks down in the middle of the rain. He curses the sky as he opens the door to check if there's any way to get home, only for lightning to strike accompanied by blinding light.
The next second he opens his eyes, he had paws and whiskers and he was only a few inches off the ground.
Scared, he runs home as fast as he could, clawing at your door and now he's here, utterly doomed.
...
It's been five days and Lino, the name you have the cat, had no intention of going back outside. In fact, he struts around the place like he knows it by heart.
His relentless meows have not gone away either, at least once an hour he sits by your side or jumps to stand face to face with you and frantically meow his heart out, almost like he's desperately trying to make you understand him.
You just sum it up that maybe he's just a really active and talkative cat, and you continue to indulge him by nodding and smiling and scratching behind his ears and chin.
Minho puffs up frustrated sighs everytime.
"Magic exists and I was cursed to turn into a cat, Y/N!"
"Lino, you're demanding more food? You just cleaned out your whole bowl 20 minutes ago." You giggled as the cat seemed to stomp at your reply.
"You didn't put enough and you know I have a big appetite. Oh, and you have to find out how turn me back into a human!"
"Aww, my little kitty is upset, you want some pets?" You scooped up the grumpy cat and placed him on your lap on the couch.
"No, I don't want pets, Y/N! Can't you see that this is your fiancé in front of you?"
He swears it was the cat side of him that immediately calmed down and leaned into you touch when you started to scratch his chin. And it was definitely that same side that pawed at your hand when you stopped.
As his eyes slowly closed in content, a picture frame on the side table caught his attention. It was a picture of you and him.
Minho sits up immediately and leaps to the picture. "Here, here!" He points at the picture of himself and then his cat body.
You stand in shock, looking at the picture of you and your fiance. "You're right, Lino..." Minho felt like he could leap in joy at your response.
"I should call him... it's been almost a week since we last spoke."
He meows in protest, but it was too late as you already went ahead and grabbed your phone.
Minho remembers that he left his luggage and phone in his office when he drove back home to get some of the documents he forgot. His office was completly inaccessible to anyone when he's away and his phone was in silent mode.
Of course no one was gonna answer you. But you didn't know that. Minho stares at you in frustration first, still not being able to effectively communicate with you.
But as he looks up at you again, the faint expression of excitement replaced with slow defeat as you call goes to voicemail, his eyes soften from that of annoyance to... he doesn't know.
But he doesn't like that look on your beautiful face.
"Hey, my love, just calling in to check on you. I'm sure you must be busy, but I want you to know that I really miss you, okay?" Despite your mood shifting when he didn't answer, you tried to keep your voice happy, unaware of the knowing look from the cat beside you.
He listens intently at your words. "Take care of yourself and don't skip on sleep or meals. Okay, I love you... c-call me when you can."
You end your message, looking back at the cat with a smile that held back the emotion in your eyes. "Well, that could've have gone better."
"He's busy, you know? And every second of his day is important." You sigh, leaning into the couch cushions and closing your eyes. "Can't expect him to be thinking of me too when he's already got so much on his mind."
Minho thinks he could spare a call and maybe a few texts, just so he doesn't ever get to see that solemn look on your face.
He gets back up on your lap, cuddling into your stomach, and for the first time since he came in, he stays quiet, purring softly as if to comfort you.
You look down at him and smile, "Thank you, honey, I needed that."
...
Your heart never rests, and everyday you did the same thing, calling him and never getting answered, leaving a voice message that never seems to be heard. Minho sticks by your side each time, and your glad that you have a companion that cuddles up to after each disappointing call.
His little cat heart begins to ache a bit. He shouldn't have gotten used to it, to shrugging off your missed calls, to replying late to your messages, to not being there. Not when your lips turn into a frown that he had the privilege of usually never seeing before because he actually made you happy back then.
He made you happy back then...
But now? He can't even see what he makes you feel because he's never there.
And when he's here... he's a stinking cat!
You wipe your tears before they make it past your cheeks, looking at the lack of any reply on your phone. The ring on your finger glimmers beside your phone, reminding you of the promise of marriage that never seems to come.
Minho's cat eyes find the same ring, and a guilty feeling consumes him. That ring, it looks out of place on you finger, and he knows why.
...
Two weeks.
He's supposed to be home today.
Yet still no reply.
Lino has calmed down now, no more meowing fit and screaming in your face or trying to make you understand, though he still does have some weird behavior like using the toilet instead of the cat litter you bought him, tucking himself next to you in bed like a human, going into Minho's office and just staring at the papers on his desk. And for a cat, he's awfully afraid of heights.
No matter how much of an odd cat he is, you have to admit that without him, you would have been in a depressive spiral trying to contact Minho. You've been left hanging for so long that you actually started to get worried that something may have happened to him.
"I should call his assistant, right? Something might have happened and he couldn't contact me." The cat bounced from his loaf position, walking eagerly to you.
"That's a great idea! Then they'll tell you that I didn't make it to my trip and I'm missing."
"Okay, here I go." The phone rings and soon his assitant picks up.
"Hello, you are calling Lee Corp. How may I help you?"
"Hi, I was just wondering if there's any news on Minho over there. If he's okay and whatnot."
"Oh." The voice at the other line seem to turn snarky as she realizes who you are. "Ms. Y/N, if Mr. Lee is not responding to you, then he must be very busy and has no time to check his phone."
Minho's head turns, he's never heard his assistant speak in such a condescending voice, especially not to his fiancé.
"There's no need to worry, Ms. Y/N, the team and I take good care of him, so your worry is not needed. I'm sure Mr. Lee is fine, and you should not bother contacting him because it might interfere with his important business."
Minho leaps to you lap, grumbling and hissing at your phone speaker. "What the hell are you saying?"
"Wait... can you call him for me? I just need to talk to him..." You pleaded, but you're met with a scoff.
"Ms. Y/N, there's no need for a call, Mr. Lee will be home soon and you can continue to cling to him as you please." The assistant hangs up at that, making you stare at your phone in disbelief.
Minho too was stunned by the sheer unprofessionalism of his assistant, he wishes he could have said something to defend you, to let you know that he won't let her speak to you like that.
Though for you, that call was a shot to your heart more than anything, inflating your insecurities as you stare at your reflection on the screen.
He doesn't need you, you are only a bother to him, you cling to him while he tries to move forward. Maybe that's why he's so miserable in your relationship.
Tears start to quietly fall from your eyes as you let your thoughts take over you. Minho immediately paws at your face, but you avoid it, hugging your legs and crying into your knees, keeping yourself hidden from his gaze.
You feel his paws at your side, his body trying to snuggle closer to you, but no matter how much you try to appreciate it, no amount of comfort can make you feel better right now.
...
It was another rainy night, still no sign of Minho despite him supposedly coming home today.
You prepared Lino's dinner, but he seemed far too anxious to eat.
He can't eat when he sees you constantly looking at your phone with a deep thought, typing up something only to delete it later.
He wonders what could be in your mind, you might be mad at him, he understands. He also wonders if he's ever gonna turn back to human, or is he just forced to watch as you begin to believe that he has left you with no explanation.
Your phone starts to ring, and he immediately bolts to your side on the kitchen counter.
You're calling him again, and he hates that he can't answer, that he can't make up some excuse so you don't have to believe that he's ignoring you on purpose.
Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail. You sigh heavily, as if bracing yourself to let it all out on a recording that you're not even sure he's gonna listen to. He does the same, his heart pounding at what you could possibly say to him.
"Hey, Minho, I don't know if you're getting my messages, if you are, I don't even know if you bother to listen to them."
"I wanted to talk to you about us, and what I've been feeling."
Minho's eyes never falter from your dishearted figure.
"I haven't heard from you this entire two weeks, and honestly, I haven't heard much this past few months."
"I know, I'm sorry, my love."
"And I know it's unfair to demand your attention when you're already so busy, but I... I-I just wanted to see you more, and for you to see me too." You try to contain your sobs, hoping to let out more words before your an incoherent mess.
"You deserve my attention, and so much more."
"I have loved you since we were in high school, and more and more every single day after that."
"I feel the same way..."
"But maybe your love isn't the same as mine anymore. Maybe you grew tired."
"Please don't say that..."
"A-And that's why I feel like I should let you go."
"Please don't let me go..."
"I want you to be happy, Minho, to find someone that you can love wholeheartedly. To love your past, present, and make your future beautiful."
"That's you, Y/N."
"Please know that I do still love you and-" *beep*
*Voicemail has exceeded the time limit.*
"God I hate you too..."
Minho looks up at you, his cat eyes glossy. He wishes for you to keep going, to let it out and let him hear all of his wrongdoings.
"I hate you for promising me that I'll be marrying the love of my life, I hate you for ignoring me when all I wanted was to love you, I hate you for taking away the Minho I fell in love with for a decade. I hate you for making me love you no matter how much it hurts me."
Your phone lays flat on the counter, catching your tears as you cry your message into the air.
"I just wish you're here right now... so you would know how much it hurts."
"I'm here..." He meows at your sorrow, head down in shame.
The sound of metal hitting marble catches his ear, and in the next second he sees your figure returning to your room, while beside him, your ring wobbles slightly before it lands flatly right in front of his face.
...
It took two hours before the sobs from your room has calmed down, two hours before the storm outside picked up to accompany thunder. Two hours and he stays planted in his place.
Minho silently stared at the ring on the counter, his eyes trained on it as if it was a threat. He lays on the counter semi-loaf, paws under his chin as he stares unblinking at the ring.
Stupid ring. Ugly, meaningless, basic. That's what he thinks of it.
You derserve better, not just the first thing he saw when he went into the jewelry store. He got a random ring, proposed to you on a random day, and treated it like it meant nothing.
He did it because he was scared, he saw the way you started looking so down months ago, he saw how you no longer lit up the way you did around him, he saw the space between you expanding and he couldn't have that.
He was scared to lose you, so he proposed. And the way you lit up again ten times brighter brought him a sense of security.
Candles eventually burn out and he saw that even after getting a ring, you never escaped the emptiness that haunted your relationship.
It's his fault, for working himself to death, for acting like his work was his life, for thinking that one gesture is all it takes to make you happy again when all you ever wanted was him.
You deserve better, a better ring, a better fiancé.
Minho whimpers slightly, tears clouding his dilated eyes. He doesn't blink them away, he just stares at the ring as if it led to all of his mishaps.
He designs a ring in his mind, one that isn't just a band with an expensive diamond stuck to it, one with meaning, with designs that capture you and him. He imagines giving it to you on the anniversary of when you agreed to be his girlfriend, under twinkling stars and surrounded by fireflies, on the hill he took you to have a chilly night picnic. You would scream yes and he would almost roll down the hill in full excitement.
Instead he proposed in your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. You still cried, you still smiled so happily and kissed him in fervor. He knows that no matter what, you would be grateful, but he beats himself up for not even making an effort.
And now you're slipping away...
You emerge from the bedroom, still with bloodshot eyes, but no longer hiccuping sobs. "Lino, still didn't eat, honey?" You scratch under his ear, and only then did he close his eyes to lean in to your touch.
Minho looks up at you, "I love you, Y/N..." He mutters the most heartfelt meows you've ever heard from a cat. It's a shame you can't understand him.
You sigh, seeing from the still full cat bowl that the cat did not really feel like eating. You slowly lift him off the counter, craddling him in your arms. "How about we just go to bed now and then you can have a big breakfast?"
He hums as he snuggles into your embrace, and you smile at how he seems to really understand you. His heart aches at how beautiful your heart is, how it's always been, because he feels as if he doesn't deserve to be in your arms.
You lay in bed, placing him on top of your chest. He loafs on you, and you both quietly stare at each other.
"Tomorrow, we're gonna go to my mom's house. And we're gonna stay there for a while..." He sees a packed suitcase placed by the closet, the closet just open enough for him to see the lack of your clothes in there.
He also notices the missing items around the room that you would normally keep in there own places. Other than your presence, you completly wiped the room of you.
"Don't go..." He gently meows at you, eyes once again filling with tears.
"Are you crying, honey?" You asked worriedly, knowing you're not getting a response. "Why are your eyes so sad, my sweet kitty?" You pet him gently, heart aching at the sight of the glossy eyed cat.
"Don't leave me..."
You think that maybe he's attched to your home and he doesn't want to leave. "It's okay, honey, you'll always be with me."
"I should've been... I should always be with you..."
His meows sounded like painful whispers, eluding to a feeling you can't quite understand from him. You press a kiss on his nose, comforting the seemingly distressed cat.
Thundet roars outside, and a flash of light appears to blind the entire room.
"Don't leave me..."
You breathe heavily, your eyes wide.
"Minho?"
Lino the cat was gone and suddenly it was Minho on top of you, legs in between yours while his face hides in the crook of your neck. You feel his tears warm on your skin as he exhales sobs against you.
He expects you to push him off, to berate him and leave right now, he clings on tightly just in case.
But instead, he feels one hand brushing through his hair and another soothing his back. "There there, my love, it's okay..."
And because it's you saying it, he believes it.
...
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"The lightning turned me into a cat and I was trying to tell you for two weeks but you couldn't understand me." Minho was tucked under the blanket after changing from his suit to his nightwear, looking at you with boba eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed.
"So you're Lino?" He nods at your question.
Your heart drops, he has seen you moping and hurting and even breaking down. "That's why you weren't answering my calls?" He nods again.
"I'm sorry, Y/N..." He lifts his hand from beneath the blanket to hold your hand. "Not just about these two weeks, but every single day I made you feel neglected. We promised each other that we'd always be there, and I got so used to you always being here when I come home, I forgot to be here for you when I am home. I was consumed by work, by always trying to be on top, but I forgot that all of this... was for us, for my dream future with you."
Tears stain both of your cheeks, and though Minho was never fond of talking about feelings or getting too serious, he finds that talking to you and you finally understanding him was a huge privilege.
"Minho... I dreamed everyday of our future, and I can't imagine myself still being here while you work yourself to death and-"
"I know, and I won't do that, not anymore. Not when my favorite person is always home waiting for me. I can't imagine a future without you, Y/N, you're all I've ever loved about life..." He sits up, caressing your hand with both of his, feeling your fingers.
"I-I'm sorry I took off the ring, Minho..."
"No... I should be sorry, for giving you a crappy ring in a crappy proposal..." He sighs, remembering the lack of thought in a supposedly meaningful event.
"I was crying happy tears that night..."
"But you deserve better, and I need to deserve you again, if you would have me."
You smile slightly. "I want to have you... but maybe not with a ring right now..."
He nods frantically. "I'll take that, besides, I need more months to plan my next proposal." You giggled as he wipes away the last of your tears. "For now... let me focus on spending more time with you, like we used to.
"I'd like that..." You reply, right as he stomach grumbles, signaling his hunger. "I told you to eat, Lino."
Minho chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Can we eat now?"
You hum, leading him out of the bed and into the kitchen.
What you didn't expect was a tuxedo cat on your kitchen counter, the engagement ring in its mouth as it looks surprised at you two.
It hurried to escape through the slightly ajar back door. "What was that?" You stood in shock, looking at the window to see that the cat has jumped the fence.
"Maybe it was for the best. I already have a ring idea in my mind, anyway."
Seven months later, he brought you to the hill, just as he imagined, got down on one knee and proposed to you with a ring with diamonds placed in the shape of a cat's paw.
And it took another five months to plan the wedding because it turns out he was a lot more particular than you were gonna be.
0.5k── fmr x prk sunghoon, est. relationship, fluff
you were quiet tonight.
not the usual soft, content kind of quiet— no, this one sat heavier. it was the kind of silence that filled the space between words you weren’t saying, curling in the corners of your shared apartment like mist.
sunghoon noticed it right away. he always did.
he found you curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, the tv playing a show neither of you were watching. he didn’t say anything at first. just sat beside you, close enough to brush your shoulder, and let the silence hum between you.
“bad day?” he asked gently, after a while.
you nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “just… tired. of everything, kind of.”
sunghoon didn’t push. didn’t ask for the details. instead, he pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin as if that was the safest place on earth.
“you don’t always have to be okay you know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “not with me.”
that’s what broke you.
not the day. not the pressure. not the spiral of thoughts in your head.
just him holding you like you were something precious, whispering those words like a promise. it was enough to make the tears fall, quiet but uncontrollable.
“sorry,” you sniffled, burying your face deeper in his hoodie.
he held you tighter. “don’t apologize. if i could take the hurt out of you and put it in me, i would.”
you let out a broken laugh. “that’s dramatic.”
“i’m dramatic about you,” he said simply, brushing his fingers through your hair. “i’m allowed.”
when your breathing slowed and your hands relaxed against his chest, sunghoon kissed your knuckles softly and whispered, “you’re doing better than you think, you know.”
you looked up at him, and he smiled, soft, sincere, and just for you.
i needed to hear this so bad i’m so unbelievably stressed about uni sometimes
sometimes i don’t think i’m succeeding in any capacity
it’s like i’m just living through the motions and the only thing that makes me feel alive is writing fanfic T^T that’s not gonna pay the bills unfortunately
but at least i’m trying every single day? idk, this really comforted me
hi !!! thank u sm for reading this reblog makes me so so happy to know that my fic was able to cheer someone up ☹️ don’t stress urself too much, as long as we try it will always get better!!
loser!enhypen's reaction to your confession + their down bad behaviour
genre: completely fluff, slight crack
warnings: self doubt, very little stuttering
note: live, laugh, love hot loser men
word count: 2.3k
i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3
HEESEUNG
heeseung was the guy who always sat in the back of the library, oversized hoodie pulled up and earbuds blasting lo-fi playlists. not because he was trying to look cool and aloof—he just didn’t know how to talk to people. heeseung’s whole vibe screamed ‘leave me alone’, and yet, you were drawn to him. maybe it was the way his big glasses always slid down his nose or how he’d stammer when the librarian asked if he needed help. there was a sweetness to his awkwardness, a genuine quality that made him stand out(not to mention how devastatingly handsome he was).
you started leaving him little sticky notes on the library desk when he wasn’t looking, simple messages like “nice doodles!” or “your handwriting is cute<3” the day he caught you in the act, his face turned the color of a ripe tomato.
“you think my handwriting’s c-cute?” he stuttered, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
a bit nervous, you laughed and nodded. “yeah, i do. and i think you’re cute too.”
heeseung froze, his pen dropping to the table. “wait, you… you think i’m cute?” he sounded so disbelieving it was almost funny.
when you confessed that you liked him, he spent two weeks in disbelief, constantly asking if you were joking. but after you assured him that no, you weren’t pulling some cruel prank, he became utterly devoted. he’d text you good morning every day, walk you to your classes while carrying your books (even when you insisted you could manage), and write you poetry—the kind of cringe, over-the-top poetry that made your heart melt anyway.
heeseung was the kind of boyfriend who’d get embarrassingly jealous but try to hide it. if someone so much as glanced at you for too long, he’d fidget nervously and mumble something about how they were probably just admiring how amazing you were. and if you hugged him in public? forget it. he’d be grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day.
when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about your future together. he’d scribble little sketches of the two of you in his notebook, complete with hearts and statements like “me + you = forever.” if you teased him about it, he’d turn beet red and try to deny it, but you could see the tiny smile playing on his lips.
rest is under the cut!
JAY
jay was the guy in your science class who thought he could blend in by keeping his head down. what he didn’t realize was that his nervous habits were endearing: the way he’d mumble answers to himself during group work or adjust his glasses every 30 seconds. he was always sketching random diagrams in his notebook—half for class, half because he was too awkward to make conversation.
you had a crush on him because, despite his shyness, there was something magnetic about the way he focused—his brows furrowing as he sketched diagrams in his notebook, the faintest pout forming on his lips when he was deep in concentration. one time, you caught him organizing the classroom supplies, his long fingers deftly sorting through tape dispensers and markers while muttering something about order.
when you mentioned you liked him, jay blinked at you like he couldn’t comprehend the words. “me? like me, me?” he asked, pointing to himself.
you nodded, trying not to giggle at how wide his eyes had gotten. “yes, you. i think you’re really sweet.”
jay’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately started rambling. “i mean, i… uh, wow, okay, i didn’t expect this. are you sure? like, really sure? because i’m kind of a mess, and—”
once it clicked, though, he was all in. he’d send you paragraphs of text apologizing if he thought he said something wrong, shower you with small, thoughtful gifts (like your favorite snacks or a plant he’d researched how to care for), and eventually worked up the courage to hold your hand—though he’d sweat buckets the entire time.
jay would also start making lists—actual, physical lists—of things he could do to make you happy. “compliment her at least once a day,” “remember her favorite coffee order!,” and “learn how to not be a complete dork >:(” were scrawled on a sticky note tucked into his notebook. and when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about you, doodling your initials in the margins of his notes.
very soon, he was down-bad for you, which was evident through his real life and his social media activities. he’d post the cheesiest captions about you, like “can’t believe i’m dating the most amazing person in the world” with a blurry photo of the two of you. his friends teased him mercilessly, but he didn’t care. to him, you were worth every bit of embarrassment. late at night, he’d re-read your old texts and smile like an idiot, convinced he was the luckiest person alive.
JAKE
jake was a lovable mess. he wore mismatched socks, always seemed to forget his pencil, and somehow managed to trip over air at least once a day. his “plan” to talk to you involved him awkwardly hovering near your desk and pretending to need help with math problems he already knew how to solve. you knew from the start he was a bit of a loser—but that’s exactly why you liked him along with you finding everything he did adorable.
“wait, wait,” he said when you told him you were into him. “you like me? like, romantically? or is this a ‘pity me’ situation?”
after realizing you genuinely liked him, jake became a golden retriever in human form. he’d facetime you at random hours just to say hi, take you on chaotic “dates” that involved him occasionally tripping over things in public, nervously ordering food for you both and all silly fun activities like arcade games and amusement parks. it was never a dull day with him! after your first kiss, he couldn’t stop grinning for hours, texting his friends in all caps: “GUYS I JUST KISSED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AAHJKHSSSK”
jake’s down-bad behavior reached new levels when he started making playlists for every possible mood you might have: “songs to cheer you up,” “songs that remind me of you<3,” and even “songs to study to (but only if you want to study with me):3” he’d even text you mid-class to tell you he missed you, even if you’d just seen each other that morning.
jake was also the kind of boyfriend who’d insist on carrying your bag even when it was clear it was too heavy for him. “i’ve got this!” he’d say, wincing slightly but refusing to let you take it back. and if you ever mentioned feeling sad or stressed, he’d immediately panic, asking, “what can i do? tell me, and i’ll do it!” he’d even write you little notes with nerdy jokes or doodles to make you smile, slipping them into your locker or bag for you to find later.
SUNGHOON
sunghoon thought he was slick, but his ‘cool guy’ act was so transparent it was almost cute. he’d lean against the lockers during breaks, pretending not to notice you, but the way his ears turned red every time you walked by gave him away. despite his awkward attempts at being aloof, you found his loser tendencies adorable: like how he’d secretly google pickup lines but chicken out before using them.
when you confessed your feelings, he genuinely choked. “wait, you like me? oh wow… you have bad- I MEAN great taste ahem.” he spent a solid week trying to act nonchalant, but once you started dating, his loser side came out full force. he’d ask you to “rate his outfits” before dates, send you selfies captioned “just thinking about you bbg,” and blush furiously every time you complimented him. sunghoon may have tried to act smooth, but deep down, he was utterly whipped.
sunghoon would also start practicing ways to compliment you in the mirror—only to mess it up completely when the time came. “y-you look… uh, very… beautiful? no, wait, gorgeous! that’s the word i meant!” and everytime you smiled at him, he’d be texting his friends, “she smiled at me again!!!!! i’m gonna pass out.”
his devotion extended to doing the smallest things for you, like bringing you your favorite drink or snacks without you asking. he’d even memorise your schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you between classes, claiming it was coincidence even though the timing was suspiciously perfect. at night, he’d lay awake replaying your conversations, smiling at the ceiling like the lovesick fool he was.
SUNOO
you had noticed sunoo always sitting at the edge of friend groups, laughing along but never quite joining in. he was bubbly and fun but had an air of self-doubt that made him endearing. you started noticing how he’d always bring extra snacks to share with classmates or go out of his way to compliment people—little acts of kindness that made your heart flutter. not to mention his angelic beauty, that had you look twice the first time you had seen him standing near the water cooler awkwardly.
it was hard not to develop a crush and when you told sunoo you liked him, he’d blink in disbelief. “no way. you’re joking, right?” but after realising you were serious, he’d giggle nervously and hide his face in his hands. once you started dating, he became the most attentive boyfriend ever, remembering every small detail about you and hyping you up like you were the main character. he’d also send you cheesy tiktoks at 2 a.m. with captions like, “this is so us babe ><”
sunoo was head over heels for you, the literal epitome of “she fell first but he fell harder”. he did adorable things like creating a secret pinterest board filled with date ideas and texting you pictures of cute animals with captions like, “look, it’s us in 50 years!” he also started learning how to bake just so he could surprise you with your favorite treats—though most of his attempts ended in chaotic, flour-covered disasters.
if you ever seemed upset, sunoo would go into full panic mode, showering you with compliments and doing everything in his power to cheer you up. “you’re the most amazing person i’ve ever met,” he’d say earnestly, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. he even kept a list on his phone of all the things you’d mentioned liking, just so he could surprise you when you least expected it.
JUNGWON
jungwon was the class president who seemed to have it all together—but his close friends knew better. he was the guy who’d trip over his words during speeches, carry five planners because he kept losing them, and stress over things like forgetting to bring tape for a poster project. you liked him because, despite his loser-ish tendencies, he had a heart of gold and worked hard to make everyone feel included.
when you told him you had a crush on him, jungwon’s first reaction was to nervously laugh. “wait, me? are you sure? why would you do that to yourself!?” once he accepted that you really liked him, he became the sweetest boyfriend imaginable. he’d plan thoughtful dates (that inevitably went slightly wrong but ended up being more fun because of it), leave you encouraging notes in your locker, and get adorably flustered every time you kissed him.
jungwon also started creating “motivational speeches” for you, writing them out on notecards and practicing in the mirror before giving them. “i believe in you,” he’d say earnestly, fumbling to hand you a little note that said, “you’re amazing, and don’t you forget it.” if you teased him about it, he’d bury his face in his hands and mumble, “stop, you’re embarrassing me…”
his love didn’t stop there. he’d stay up late researching ways to make your life easier, like creating color-coded study guides or finding fun new spots to take you on dates. and if anyone dared to speak poorly of you, jungwon would step up, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. “they don’t know what they’re talking about,” he’d say, his tone protective and unwavering.
NI-KI
ni-ki was the quiet gamer boy who’d rather blend into the background than be noticed. he wore the same hoodie every other day and constantly had earbuds in, even when they weren’t playing anything. you liked him because of how unpretentious he was—and how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he loved, like a new game or a random meme he found hilarious.
when you told him you were into him, ni-ki almost dropped his controller. his eyes narrowed into a glare, “are you sure you’re not messing with me? did jake tell you about my crush?” after he realised what he had said, he immediately scampered away leaving you standing there confused. once he got over his initial shock, he became your biggest simp. he’d send you memes that reminded him of you, let you beat him at games (even though he’d deny it), and randomly text you “you’re so pretty” at the most unexpected times. around his friends, he’d brag about you non-stop, showing off pictures of you with a proud grin.
once he was down bad for you, he became hell bent on learning how to cook your favorite meals—even though he’d never cooked before in his life. “how hard can it be?” he’d say, only to panic five minutes in and call you for help. he also started staying up late to design matching gamer tags for the two of you, insisting that everyone online needed to know you were his.
in quiet moments, ni-ki would open up about how much you meant to him, his voice soft and a little shaky. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m not letting go.” and if you ever showed up to surprise him during his gaming sessions, he’d immediately log off, saying, “sorry, guys, my priority is here,” as he turned his full attention to you.
summary : april 1st, the perfect day to plan a prank, and on who else but your boyfriend who gets pouty and sulky when not given attention?
warnings : FLUFF. established relationship, jake being sulky, minor guilt
a/n : yk i had to do my mans good when april fools comes by. enjoy the short oneshot ! (i miss writing short oneshots)
queueing : supercute - nct wish, your eyes only - enhypen, one and only - boynextdoor,
— wc : 1.2k — not proof read —
you start the morning with a mission: give your boyfriend, jake, the silent treatment for as long as possible.
it's april fools’ day, and you figured it’d be funny to see how he reacts. maybe he’ll get annoyed. maybe he’ll get frustrated. maybe he’ll start pleading with you dramatically. either way, you’re determined to hold out for as long as possible.
except… you forget one crucial detail.
jake sim is unbelievably clingy.
it starts the second you wake up. normally, you’d greet him with a sleepy mumble and a nuzzle into his chest, but today, you roll over and say nothing.
jake blinks at you, confused but still smiling as he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“morning, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. he presses a lazy kiss to your cheek, waiting for your usual response. when it doesn’t come, he leans back slightly to look at you.
“babe?” he says again, poking your side gently.
you blink at him but remain silent, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.
jake tilts his head. “did you not sleep well?”
you shake your head.
he frowns. “you had a nightmare?”
you shake your head again.
his brows furrow, concern flashing across his face. “are you mad at me?”
you don’t respond.
now jake is wide awake. he sits up, pulling you with him, cradling your face between his hands. “baby, what’s wrong?”
you give him the most deadpan stare you can manage.
his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften. “did i do something?”
you fight the urge to coo at how cute he looks, his messy bedhead, his pouty lips, the way his thumb strokes your cheek so gently.
instead, you just blink at him and stand up, heading to the bathroom.
jake follows. of course he does.
“wait, babe—" he tries, but you close the door before he can step inside.
you take a deep breath, covering your mouth to suppress your laughter. if he’s already acting this desperate, this prank might not last very long
jake spends the entire time you’re in the bathroom standing outside the door, knocking every few seconds.
“baby, are you okay?” knock.
“do you want me to make breakfast?” knock, knock.
“are you mad at me?” knock, knock, knock.
you don’t answer.
when you finally open the door, he’s standing there, arms crossed, lips jutted out in a deep pout. his hair is still a mess from sleep, and he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes big and round.
“why aren’t you talking to me?” he asks, voice slightly whiny.
you just step around him and head for the kitchen.
jake gasps. “wait, wait—” he rushes after you, grabbing onto the hem of your hoodie like a lost child. “baby, talk to me.”
you shake him off and continue on, though your resolve is already crumbling.
he makes a distressed sound, like you’ve just personally ripped out his heart. “oh my god,” he breathes, stumbling after you.
as you start making toast, he stands right behind you, practically pressing himself against your back. his arms snake around your waist, and he rests his chin on your shoulder.
“i’m sorry for whatever i did,” he mumbles. “i don’t know what it is, but i’ll fix it.”
you glance at him out of the corner of your eye but say nothing.
jake dramatically lets his head fall against you. “babe,” he whines.
you focus on buttering your toast.
“this is so cruel,” he mutters. “you know how much i love your voice.”
he starts swaying you side to side, squeezing you tighter. “just say one thing. anything. insult me. call me ugly. i don’t care, just talk to me.”
you almost break right then and there.
almost.
instead, you finish your toast, grab a plate, and move to the couch. jake follows immediately, plopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. he dramatically flops against your side, making himself comfortable with half his weight on you.
you do your best to ignore him as you eat.
he buries his face into your shoulder. “you’re so mean,” he mumbles.
you don’t react.
he shifts, lying down fully across your lap, looking up at you with big, pleading eyes. “please?”
you bite your lip to keep from smiling.
jake lets out another loud sigh. “fine. i’ll just text you, then.”
you watch as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. a second later, your phone buzzes on the table.
jake: are you okay? :(
another buzz.
jake: do u hate me
another.
jake: i miss u even though ur right here
he peeks up at you, eyes hopeful. you don’t respond.
his lips wobble.
another text.
jake: babe pls just say something ur killing me here
when you don’t react, he groans loudly, shoving his face into your stomach.
“this is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” he mumbles against you.
you finally crack a little smile but quickly hide it before he can see.
he sighs again, dramatically rolling onto his side. he looks so genuinely sad now, lips still in a pout, his brows furrowed like he’s deep in thought.
you stare at him for a long moment, fingers twitching with the need to reach out and soothe him.
and then he mumbles, “maybe you finally realized i’m too annoying to love.”
your heart absolutely shatters.
that’s it. prank over.
you put your plate aside and immediately grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “jake, oh my god,” you blurt out, breaking your silence.
his eyes widen, but instead of the smug grin you expect, his lips press together tightly. he blinks once, twice. then a single tear rolls down his cheek.
your stomach drops.
“jake—”
he sniffles dramatically. “you really weren’t gonna talk to me all day?” his voice wobbles slightly, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.
“wait,” you narrow your eyes, scanning his face. “are you actually crying or are you faking it?”
another tear falls, and jake doesn’t even bother wiping it away. instead, he just lets out the most heart-wrenching sigh, draping himself across your lap again. “you tell me,” he murmurs.
guilt crashes over you in waves.
“oh my god, baby,” you whisper, frantically cupping his face. “i’m so sorry, i was just—”
his lips suddenly twitch into a tiny, barely-there smile.
your hands freeze.
his teary eyes peek up at you, and then, just like that, the grin breaks through.
realization smacks you in the face.
“jake,” you breathe.
he sniffles again, blinking innocently. “yes, my love?”
“you’re such a little—” you push his shoulder, and he bursts into laughter, rolling onto his back as you glare down at him.
“i knew you’d break first,” he teases between giggles, wiping at his damp cheeks. “but hey, i really did get emotional for a second.”
“i can't stand you.”
“no, you can't,” he sings, sitting up and tugging you onto his lap. “you love me, which is why you gave in.”
you huff, crossing your arms, but the warmth in his eyes softens you.
he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “admit it,” he whispers. “you’d never last a whole day ignoring me.”
you want to argue, but… he’s right. you roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “yeah, yeah.”
“so,” he tilts his head, eyes twinkling, “can i have a proper ‘i love you’ now?”
you pretend to hesitate, but when he gives you that soft, lovestruck look, you cave.
“i love you, jake.”
his grin stretches wide, dimples appearing. “love you more, even if you’re mean to me.”
you flick his forehead which is met with a small whine but he just laughs, pulling you closer.
╰┈➤ in which you surprise your boyfriend by speaking japanese.
⟡ ┆pairing: nishimura riki x fem! reader
⟡ ┆genre: fluff, established relationship, humour
⟡ ┆word count: 1.0k
⟡ ┆note: just wanted to say that i don’t know japanese, so if the translations aren’t accurate, pls lmk.
“kuso.” riki mutters under his breath, causing you to turn your head toward him.
the two of you are sprawled comfortably on the couch, riki focused on his game, clicking rapidly at the buttons of his controller, completely immersed. while you scroll mindlessly on your phone, both of you exist in your own little bubble.
“what does that mean?” you ask, curiosity piqued at the word you've heard riki mutter multiple times. though you already have a vague guess.
riki glances at you briefly before slowing down his movements on the controller. “nothing,” he brushes off, returning his gaze to the screen. you hum not don’t pushing it further.
the night drags on, and soon, the two of you decide to watch an anime together—a movie you’ve both been waiting to release for some time now. nestled comfortably in each other’s arms, you watch as the story unfolds. before you know it, the credits roll. the two of you done for the night, you both get ready for bed.
waiting for riki to finish up in the bathroom, you lie alone in bed and remember the moment earlier. ever so curious, you grab your phone and search for the word riki often mutters under his breath. no doubt it was in his mother tongue, japanese.
the search results make you chuckle, confirming your suspicion—the words he often whispers are curse words. falling into a rabbit hole of japanese vocabulary, you practice the words that show up silently.
“daisuki?” your eyes scan the screen as you scroll down a beginner’s guide. “'daisuki' is a japanese word and expression that means to like or love something a great amount.” your gaze lingers on the next line.
“it's often used to say you love someone.”
hmm. these words might come in handy.
the following days with riki are chaotic, to say the least. your boyfriend always keeps you on your toes, constantly teasing you, play-fighting with you (seriously, are we ten?), and worst of all, stealing your food. after a long day of dealing with his hyper energy, you sigh, in desperate need of a time-out.
your eyes trail to the couch and the controller left unattended on the coffee table, practically calling your name. you plop down, turning on the game, controller in hand. before long, you’re fully immersed, fingers gripping the buttons tightly as gunfire and other game sound effects echo in the room. the victory chime rings, and a smug grin spreads across your face. clicking start, you prepare for another round—
until a hand swiftly snatches the controller away.
“riki,” you whine, standing from your spot to reclaim it. agile and a lot taller than you, he swiftly dodges your movements.
“nu-uh,” he tuts, shaking his head in amusement as he moves further away. rounding back to the couch, he plops down. “it’s my turn now.”
you roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance at having been cut off short of your game.
“uzai.” you mutter the japanese word foreign on your tongue, sending a death glare in riki’s way, sitting comfortably in your spot.
you knew the word would elicit some sort of reaction, and you were right.
“what?” riki looks at you immediately, his expression unreadable, though amusement flickers in his eyes.
you take a few steps forward, arms crossed. “i said,” you repeat slowly, “uzai.” you try to sound confident in your pronunciation, though you barely remember the proper way to say it from the japanese guide you read.
riki chuckles, his confusion morphing into pure amusement. “hontou ni?” he replies, clicking start on his game. his response making you annoyed at yet another phrase you had no idea the meaning to.
“where’d you learn that word?” he asks as he begins his round, eyes still locked onto the screen.
“google. where else?” you shrug, plopping down beside him, watching intently as the game unfolds.
riki doesn’t respond to your sarcasm, too focused on his game. you smirk, seizing the opportunity and snatching the controller from his grasp.
“hey!” he exclaims, frowning at you, lips tugging into a pout as he watches you start playing.
you only chuckle. “you started it.”
things wind down as the night progresses, the two of you tangled on the couch, exhaustion finally settling in. an anime plays softly on the screen, but neither of you pay much attention. you snuggle closer to riki, sighing in contentment at the much more peaceful atmosphere.
just as you feel yourself slipping into sleep, riki speaks.
“since when did you start speaking japanese?” his voice is low, curious.
you hesitate, suddenly feeling shy. “uhm…” you start, trying to find the words. “you say things i don’t understand all the time.” you explain. “so, naturally, i got curious and looked them up.” you shift slightly. “i guess i just picked some up. don’t blame me.” you finish off your explanation.
riki lets out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “that really caught me off guard, baby.” he tilts his head down to look at you. another thought crosses his mind. “what other words did you learn?” he asks, interest piqued. secretly, just wanting to hear you speak japanese again. even, if it’s just to tell him off.
you hum, feigning sleepiness. “there is this one word,” you murmur, a smirk ghosting your lips as you remember its meaning.
riki watches you, anticipation clear in his eyes.
you pause for a second, recalling the pronunciation as best as you can.
“daisuki?” your voice is soft, hesitant.
riki freezes. did he hear that right?
“again?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. the atmosphere shifts, the teasing laced with something more intimate.
this time, you say it firmly. “daisuki.” you lift yourself from his chest to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips.
riki groans, heat rising to his cheeks. “such a menace.” he mutters, looking down at you fondly.
finding the effect of the word on him amusing, you tease further. “daisuki, riki.” you say clearer.
his breath hitches. he drags a hand through his hair before shaking his head, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.
“daisuki.” he says back to you. this time it was his time to make you flustered as he pulled you even closer.
“guess i should learn more words now,” you muse, laughing softly against his chest.
tyyy for the tag, yin<3! i think yall can tell i was working on a fic LMFAOO. i wanted to gatekeep bf's pic so bad but unfortunately yall get to see him like this :/
no pressure tags: @byshens @b1mbodoll @luvsicktyun @ghstzzn @hooniehon @woniefication
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
2087
dededos
