SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
TAGLIST 𐔌 149 / 50 , closed 𐦯 ᯓ★ . . .
NOTE ᯓ★ divider credits to @kthice & art credits to @dewbiscuits , logbook div made by me (raaaahh) ⟡ this is a rewritten version of my old CAITA, there will be a lot of changes in the plot because I didn’t like the original one when I reread it. Just a little reminder that this one will probably take longer, especially with my thesis and graduation coming up. Then I would actually have to find an actual full-time job and not internships (j#b, ew). Anyways, I really hope that everyone will like the new version of CAITA. Thank you for following the story up until this point sjkjkdjdkjs, enjoy!
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ℘rologue ， chapter one ， chapter two ， chapter three ， chapter four ， chapter five ， chapter six ， chapter seven ， more to be added ♡
Okay guys should I write some more one shots (smut, fluff and perhaps some angst?) orrrrr should I start writing the Nerdjo x Stoner!reader series?
I'm lowkey stuck on what to write so I need your guys trusty help. However I will write the Nerdjo series, but im not sure to start it now and release more frequent one shots or the series chapters which would obviously take longer to release.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
Sunday rolled by in quickly like a slap to the face. Minus the fact that a client had clogged your phone with 3 missed calls, everything was going well.
“Yes, I understand, but our agreement was supposed to be next month—” you words were curelly cut off as you smiled at the barista, pointing at the menu while at the same time reaching for your wallet, “I understand that there is a change in time, but I can’t just finish it in a week of time. I haven’t colored the sketch, and rendering it would cost me time as well . . .”
Your client retaliated, arguing back, mentioning and implying twice that she paid for this and she needed the commission as soon as possible. The barista hands your receipt along with the money change in a fleeting motion, ushering you aside to serve the growing line behind you, “Yes, I understand that. But, even so, if I were to give it to you in a short amount of time, it wouldn’t be as perfect. We agreed next month for it.”
“Okay, I’m gonna bargain. 2 weeks. I don’t need it to be perfect, I just need it to be there,” she mutters out in annoyance —you were even more annoyed at the fact that she was being like this first thing in the morning, “hello? Are you listening?”
“Yes, I’m here,” you replied somberly, “two weeks is fine. I’ll get it done as best as I could—”
Your shoulder brushed against someone. No, crashed into someone and your body staggered back; the steaming coffee inside the takeaway cup swaggered slightly over the edge, pushing itself out onto the floor and . . . someone’s shirt, who just happened to be a familiar white haired male. Gojo Satoru, “Miss, I will give you a call back as soon as the project has an update. Two weeks is fine, thank you.”
You shoved your phone into your pocket, hand shooting out to fish the napkin from the counter, “I’m so sorry, Gojo, I didn’t see you,” the apology slipped out and you consistently tapped on the brown blotch on his light blue colored sweater, the liquid seeping into the napkin little by litte, “can I buy you something as an exchange for the spill?”
Satoru shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, it’s a small stain, it’ll come out.”
He bent down, putting his coffee cup on the floor as he wiped his own napkin over your spilled coffee. His fingers curled over his own files that had taken a slip out of his grip when he bumped into you, “Are you okay though?” He questiones, gesturing to the droplets of brown stained on your hand, “must’ve been hot.”
You shook your head, the pain didn’t even register as you were too busy coddling his sweater, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, it didn’t even hurt . . .” A sigh made his brow raise, “What are you doing here though?” You didn’t mean it to come out as snarky as that —you were, actually, just curious of his appearance inside the café.
“Me? I drop by here a lot to grade my student’s papers,” he sways the file, “and for the coffee.”
You bobbed your head quietly, “Ah, yeah, the coffee here is good.”
Satoru was quiet for a brief second, but he broke it with another question, “May I get you another coffee since . . . yours is half-empty now,” he point out to the cup, the white exterior now dirtied from the coffee that stuck onto it, “I’d hate to have you go without another fresh cup. So, may I?”
“Half-full,” you correct, optimism.
“Same thing?” He scratched his cheek sheepishly, “Different point of view, respectable. What do you usually order? Americano?”
You shake your head, “Gosh, no. Not Americano. Maybe sometimes, I just got (coffee of your choice), but it’s okay, I seriously don’t mind drinking the half-full cup of coffee,” Satoru raised a brow, his palms pressed onto his hips and your shoulders sagged, “okay, maybe I do need a full cup of coffee.”
“And a full cup you will get, wait here.”
Satoru returned a few minutes later, crumpling the bill inside his palm. He nods at you, “You seemed to be in . . . a rush,” you raised both brows, nodding your head.
“Somewhat?” You answered, unsure, “I have a client and I’m working on her commission, it’s a big art so we agreed on next month, but she called me this morning asking for it to be made in a week. We compromised on two . . . Right as I bumped on you. So, yes, a rush is an understatement since there are a lot of things that I should be doing on that project.”
Satoru sat down on the chair, gesturing to the one across him, “Yeah, Shoko told me you draw. Are you into graphic too or do you mostly draw . . ?” the shake of your head answered him, “so, you’re a fanaratist kind of thing, yeah?”
You felt the insecurity began crashing in, ready to explain the entirety of what you do, “Maybe? I mean, you could put it that way. I have drawn fanarts before, and I have gotten commissions on it . . . So, yeah, but most of my older drawings are just a depiction of what I’m feeling and stuff. You know? Those kind of things.”
“You sound unsure.”
“Insecure, to be exact,” you laugh.
Satoru seemed surprised at your revelation, he cocked his head aside. And you sighed, “I mean . . . Rather than an income that’s fixed, I get money when people commission me. And people just see it as a side hustle, it’s exhausting,” you explained to him, shrugging. The words Naoya used to say all coming back at once, “I just can’t help but to think they’re right sometimes.”
“For someone who viewed a half-empty cup as half-full, you’re pretty pessimistic,” you rolled your eyes in annoyance, “you’re a backbone of a community you ever drawn, give yourself some credit. It’s cool, and drawing takes a lot of time, that’s even cooler.”
Your lips tugged up slightly, “You don’t think it’s weird?”
Satoru shook his head. “No.”
Naoya did. But, you shook your head, parroting him, “Nothing. What about you? Shoko told me you teach physics,” Satoru hums softly, showing what seems to be test papers towards you, “I’m not Einstein, what does that say?”
Satoru fixed his glasses, “Force, mass, and acceleration,” his thumb clicked on the top of his red pen, “it’s described by Newton’s Second Law of Motion. If you don’t know, it states that force is equal to the change in momentum per change in time. For a constant mass, force equals mass times acceleration’, that is written in matematical form as F equals ma. F is force, m is mass, and a is acceleration.” What?
You had an awkward smile, “Oh.”
Satoru slid a test paper towards you, scribbled with messy pencil writing and numbers, “Don’t mind the pencil, this is one of my student’s test. Let’s see this first question, this is quite easy if you understand the formula. So, the question is, how much force is needed to accelerate a sixty-six kilograms skier at two meter per seconds square. Do you remember the definition I told you before?”
“F equals ma.”
“Correct. So, if we are to count it right now with it, what number goes where?”
“F equals sixty-six times two?” You asked him.
He hums, “Which equals?”
The number in your mind began rolling over and over, all of a sudden multiplications seemed to be the hardest thing besides waiting for an art to render. You used your fingers, and after a few more seconds, you proudly exclaimed, “One hundred and thirty-two.”
“Hence?”
“F equals one hundred and thirty-two newtons,” you tapped on the paper excitedly, watching him pull his pen from one side to form a line, then another line, “Gojo-sensei is a big butt,” you read out from the paper, stifling your laugh.
“That’s Yuuji, he’s failing if you haven’t noticed,” Satoru chuckled, “but he’s an adorable kid that one. Okay, so, I just know that he got everything wrong, why don’t you try to solve the next one?”
“Unless we solve it together.”
Satoru skimmed through the paper, “Let’s go for this one,” this time, his pen pointed to a longer question, “A bowling ball rolled with a force of fifteen newton accelerates at a rate of three meter per second square, then a second ball rolled with the same force accelerates four meter per second square. What are the masses of the two balls?” He finishes.
You rubbed your head, “Wait, so we already know the force . . .”
Satoru scribbled something on the paper and turns it towards you once more.
“I teach my students this way all time. Newton’s Second Law Triangle. This helps you calculate it easily, the f equals ma formula only tells you that f equals ma, hence, most of my students get confused when the force has a number or if we have to find the acceleration,” he cleared his throat, “to make it clear, what we’re finding right now is . . .” he left the gap, staring at you.
“The mass,” you filled his gap.
He nods, using his index finger to cover the ‘M’ inside the triangle, “If you cover it this way, the F stands above the a, kind of like a fraction. So, M equals F over a. The equation of the first ball is fifteen over three, the acceleration. So, the mass of the first ball is?” His voice was encouraging.
“Five kilo. And the second one is fifteen over four, which makes it . . .” your fingers stretch out, “three point seventy-five kilo.”
“That is correct. However, this is for middle school students . . . let’s say, fourteen years. What if—” Satoru pulls out another file from his bag, pulling out a paper and handing it to you, “we try college level. This is easy if you can understand the formula. Let’s go with this one,” he smirks.
You dreaded studying. But, this sounded fun, so you didn’t pass up on it, “Bring it on.”
“Alright then. In archery, when an arrow is released, it can oscillate during flight. If we know the location of the center of mass of the arrow or G, and the shape of the arrow at an instand as it oscillates like the picture shows below, we can determine the location of the nodes. The nodes are the stationary points on the the arrow as it oscillates. Using a geometric argument which means no equations, determine the location of the nodes. Assume that the arrow oscillates in the horizontal plane, so that no external forces act on the arrow in the plane oscillation,” you have heard so many different languages, but not this partcular one.
The confusion laced on your face must have spoken enough and he laughs wholeheartedly, you cocked your head, “I am unsure of what language you just spoke, but good job, Gojo. Please, do explain.”
Satour hums, “There’s a formula used somehow, it represents Newton’s Second Law of Motion for a system or a rigid body. It is spoken as, the sum of the external forces equals mass times acceleration of the center of gravity (∑Fext = maG). Okay, don’t give up on me halfway. This is a long explanation,” he taps the paper, “the key information here is that no external forces are acting on the arrow in the plane of oscillation. Therefore, for purposes of solving this whole problem, we can treat the center of mass or gravity as stationary even though the arrow itslf is oscillating. This becomes evident by Newton’s Second Law, where like the formula that I told you of before.”
“The sum of the external forces equals mass times acceleration and something gravity,” your brows pinched.
“Of the center of gravity, close,” he smiles, “so, in the plane, the sum of the external forces equals mass times acceleration of the center of gravity equals zero. This means that the center of mass of the arrow G is either moving at a constant horizontal velocity in a straight line, or G is stationary. To simplify, we can treat the center of mass G as stationary since it will help us visualize everything. The first step is to draw a line L passing through G and aligned with the direction of motion of the arrow. This line is also the symmetry line of the arrow as is oscillates. Give me one second to draw,” the edge of the pen dabbed onto the paper.
“Then the second step is to reflect the arrow about this symmetry line. The nodes are the points of intersection of the arrow that is shown above with the reflected arrow, like . . . this. See, easy right?” He beams out.
You can’t help but to cringe back at the sight, “Yeah, I appreciate your explanation . . . But, I am clueless of what just happened. I think I’ll stick to the FMA triangle, yeah?” That elicits a chuckle from him.
“You’ll get there. Also, I’m one hundred percent sure your coffee is cold by now,” he just his chin out to the counter.
You stood up abruptly, “You’re right. And I should be going, oh my gosh. I am so sorry, I got too caught up in the whole physics lesson,” he waved his hand sheepishly, “thanks again, Gojo. Also, for the extra lessons. Needed that too. Think we could do this again sometimes? Only if you want to, I mean. No pressure,” sounds like a lot of pressure, you slapped yourself internally.
“I don’t mind teaching privately,” he jokes.
“Free of charge, I suppose?”
“Free of charge. Thank you for listening, (Last Name).”
You chuckled, “(Name) is fine.”
“Then, Satoru is fine,” you pucker your lips out, waving towards him, “safe trip home, see you sometimes.”
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
“Seriously? Maybe you’re reading it wrong?” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Shoko had dropped by your apartment half an hour ago to inform you of “something” important, which just happens to be your boyfriend of almost 7 years —Naoya Zenin— posting a whole very much heartfelt message about his opinion on how you should be staying at home while he does all the heavy lifting. You might have tried to tell yourself that it’s maybe someone with the same name . . . But, nobody really is that proud of their own name besides . . . Well, Naoya Zenin, of course.
27 years old, filthy rich, well-known by practically everyone, and has the tendencies to be degrading. He’s been giving you the cold shoulder for the past couple of months before that post surfaced, and you knew that you were betting on losing dogs the second he began pulling away —or maybe, since he agreed to date you.
But, you held on to the fact that maybe someday, he had it in his heart to change.
For the past 7 years, that is. And none of 365 days for 7 years did he change at all. It’s all the same “you should stay home and let me do the hard work” and never “we can do this together and make it work”. Shoko tells you he was a dick, but then again, there goes the saying: “love is blind”. And you depicted that perfectly, way too perfect.
Living in your perfect little world of ‘I can change him’, Shoko lets you eat in your sorrows, listening to you speak about Naoya, the longing in your tone awaiting for the day he’d finally change his attitude. The more you spoke of him, the more she tells you that she wouldn’t listen to you until Naoya takes a hike. You complain to her nonetheless.
“I’m not repeating it for the third time, (Name).”
The look on your face made her groan, “One more?”
“Chat,” she mutters out, staring deep into your soul, “am I the asshole for wanting my twenty-six F girlfriend to stay at home and serve me because I do all the hard work? Is that not enough to tell you it’s him? And his username is literally his name, (Name). Come on.”
You shut your eyes as she continues, “Personally, I think that women belong at home, no offense. My girlfriend and I have been together since college, got together with her cause she was head over heels for me. Can’t deny the love, and she’s a literal definition of obedient. What I say, she does, and what I tell her, she remembers. She draws for the money, and it’s not going well, told her to give up and she was adamant on continuing that career path. Sucks,” Shko spared you a glance of despise, “Been trying to tell her to let go of that career because it won’t add up to anything. Told her to just stay jome, sit pretty, and serve me because I do all the hard work and she gets butt hurt ver my words and leaves me for a couple days before coming back.”
That’s him.
“I’ve been paying for dates and shit since we started dating, and we’re getting old so I’m thinking of proposing under the term that she stays at home and takes care of everything at home. Her best friend thinks I’m an asshole for that, but I think that it’s the least my girlfriend could do if I were to pay for everything and come home tired. Tell me I’m not the asshole,” the post ends right there and you knew this is a lost cause, that is your boyfriend alright. And you couldn’t deny it anymore, as much as you want to, “he isn’t even asking, he’s implying that he’s not an asshole. That is an asshole behavior.”
You sat there. The dizziness crashing in —remembering the moments where he was actually an asshole throughout your relationship, and you just refused to accept it because you love him. Much more than he loves you, apparently.
3 years ago, during a date in an expensive restaurant, Naoya had compared you to the very beautiful waitress. Apparently, you weren’t ‘fit’ enough to be using the dress you spent so hard to match your shoes and purse. And the steak you ordered was too ‘unhealthy’ for you. You ate only half of the steak that night, and might you say, really good and expensive steak.
2 years ago, you got a big commission from someone in the US to draw a portrait of her dog and her. She was willing to pay you hefty for it, and the moment you retold of the whole thing to Naoya, he laughed; mockery intended. Shutting down your efforts by saying that what you made through that one commission was what he makes in a couple of hours time.
Naoya doesn’t appreciate. He was born a silver spoon, he had everything even before he was born. The expensive toys kids wanted, all he had. The expensive shirts? He had all of them. The ranging bottle of perfumes and colognes in his walk in closet? Every single brand. Shoes? Every model, leather made, light up shoes, everything. All he’s had in life is grand; food? He was fed the most expensive milk as a toddler, tried caviar even before he was legal, and even the most expensive meat is . . . Everyday food to him.
You were surprised that he decided to stay with you.
With someone who had to work for everything unlike him. Then again, the post said it all, you were obedient, you remember everything. That was why he stayed because he expected you to do less. Everything begins clicking into place. Of course he never loves you, he stayed because you don’t fight back —you served him everything on a platter and sit still, “You know what? You’re right, he is a dick.”
“I’ve been saying that from seven years ago,” Shoko tossed her phone aside.
On the first day of college, you had bumped into him while running to your first class. Naoya ‘begrudgingly’ picked up something of yours that you dropped, and you’ve liked him since. On the sixth month, you confessed to him, and you weren’t expecting him to reciprocate at all. But with that cheshire smile, he accepted your feelings, and from that day you were a couple. At least that’s what you thought you are.
“This is going to sound stupid.”
“You’re a doctor, you? Stupid?” You asked her, leaning back onto the couch in distress, “I’m listening.”
Shoko shrugs, “Why don’t you get to know one of my friends? They’re nice people, nicer than that dick, I could assure you that,” the disapproving look from your face caught her off guard, but Shoko parts her lips again, before she slammed her jaw shut, the click of her teeth echoing softly, “listen, Naoya’s expecting you to come back like you always do. And . . . I figured that why not just . . . Fake it until he accepts the fact that you aren’t coming back, that he isn’t everything that he perceives himself to be.”
“Jesus. I won’t be coming back to him, I’m desperate but not that desperate,” you brushed your face in annoyance, “and I’m not looking to date, I haven’t even broke up with Naoya.”
“Yet. You fall for his sweet words all the time,” she scrolls through her phone and turns it over, “this, is Satoru. Gojo Satoru, he’s a middle school physics teacher, has been a teacher for years. He’s twenty-seven, and he plays games on his free time, loves Pokemon and desserts. Usually busy in between playing and grading papers, so you won’t have to worry about him cheating or . . . Fucking around.”
The picture shows a white haired male, he was staring into the camera in an uncanny way —especially with those deep blue eyes of him. His glasses framed his face perfectly, in a way that it made his features look more striking. A light blush coated his cheeks and he was holding a peace sign up. Gojo Satoru, you repeat his name internally.
Then Shoko pans the picture to the next one, “Suguru Geto. Twenty-seven years old. Plays bass and is in an indie band with a couple of friends from uni, they’re starting to make it big. Has a lot of piercings, I don’t know if that’s your type. Long hair. He has a busy schedule, so I’m unsure if you could meet up with him anytime soon . . . Also, he’s a gym rat. Goes to the gym every morning before band practice, he’s laidback,” and then you shifted your gaze back to Shoko.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you tell her.
“One or two?”
“One,” the answer comes out way too quickly and Shoko smirks, “I don’t like that look.”
“I knew you’d choose him. Alright, give me a couple of days. Remember,” Shoko repeats, tapping frantically on her phone, “this is —”
“Satoru,” her hand gestured to the male sitting right across from you, then Shoko looks at you, “(Name).”
This is way more awkward than you expected — 2 weeks had went by since the last time Shoko spoke about her friends. You had taken the time to break up with Naoya, and he took it well. So well that it annoyed you, he spoke with such calmness that he expects you to come back. Annoyingly, he reminded you of the spare key he’s going to leave out in case you wanted to come back to him. To hell with him.
Satoru wore a yellow oversized shirt with a Pokemon motive. You weren’t too keen on following the series, but you recognize the motive as Pikachu, and under it was a white colored long sleeved shirt. It was a simple outfit matched with black jeans, but you went simple with (outfit of your choice) as well.
Thank goodness you didn’t opt for the extravaggant choice.
“Um, hi,” you waved, a nervous smile on your face, “I’m (Name). (Name)(Last Name),” you introduced yourself like a robot —Satoru gazes up towards you before his eyes went back to the strawberry smoothie topped with . . . A mountain of whipped cream and colorful sprinkes. His dull reaction made you awkwardly fiddle with the straw inside your drink.
“Gojo. Gojo Satoru,” he blandly replies.
Shoko grunts under her breath, her chin latched onto the top of your palm, “So,” her chapter opens, “(Name) just broke up with her boyfriend. He made a weird post about her on Reddit, and she needs you to help her ex-boyfriend think that she won’t run back to him —don’t cut me off,” Shoko points her finger at Satoru the moment his jaw ticks, “it’s just for a while, that guy just needs convincing that (Name) won’t come back.”
Satoru shook his head immediately, “Absolutely not. I’m busy with work . . . And, I just broke up, so I’m not looking for something like this.”
“It’s not literal,” Shoko answers quickly, “and since when did you have a girlfriend?”
“Since two years ago. But, not anymore, she cheated on me.”
“What?”
You blew a soft sigh, “Sho, I don’t think this is a good idea either . . . I’m not . . . In the mood for this kind of thing too,” Shoko puckered her lips gently, “I thought we came here to grab coffee? I didn’t know we were meeting . . . Gojo.”
Satoru nods, “I was told that too.”
“It’s called a hustle, and you wouldn’t even say yes if I told you about the whole plan beforehand,” Satoru mixed the whip cream into the smoothie, “but, I guess it didn’t work out. I’ll leave it as that then, let’s go?” She packed her bags and ushered you.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
You casually stared at the headlines, seeing his green hair made your blood boil. Just by the looks of it, you’d make out that he’d probably hire someone to pay more so the Zenin would be headlined. Based on experience itself, you’d seen him done it before himself. Quote unquote, call the media and pay them to headline the Zenin for traction, I need it up by next week.
Honestly, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore. You were 100% sure at least every company has done this somehow — but the sight of Naoya’s face just makes your blood boil somehow. And you hadn’t paid the internet to be shown something like this (though it wasn’t actually the internet’s fault at all, you just needed someone to blame for it).
For the past seven years, you were 100% positive that you know more shit about the Zenin clan rather than their contributions. And that, you couldn’t deny even if someone had asked you to fabricate it up.
“You’ve been staring at that for a while now,” Shoko blew a puff of smoke away from where you sat before she hung her cigarette by the side of the ashtray. Your gaze lifted from the screen to her figure where she’s pulling her hair back into a bun, “it’s not worth it. You know he pays the media to do that, only people full of shit do that.”
Only people full of shit, you thought. Nodding to yourself, she’s right. Naoya and his family are full of shit and everyone agrees.
Suguru and his friends had gone on their little Japan tour a few days ago. And you were left without any other work, he told you, “Rest day”. For the past week, he had you making flyers here and there for the tour, and you were glad to do it with the income that he promised you; no joke, he called you late at night for a request, even if he does sound apologetic, you still did it because you had no hard feelings for him. In fact, you were glad to even be doing this in the first place.
Also, he did promise to bring something back for you as an apology, extra income in a form of . . . probably food or a keychain. But, hey, a keychain from Sendai doesn’t sound too bad. Or a cheesecake from Hokkaido doesn’t sound too shabby at all.
“Ieiri, can I ask you something?” You pucker your lips slightly, the straw from your “half-full” cup, or as Satoru said “half-empty”. Ieiri stared at you, the streets are bustling and people passed by the sidewalk right by where you and Shoko sat outside the cafe, “It’s about Satoru and Suguru.”
“You’re gonna ask what happened between them,” she guessed. And she guessed right.
“Yeah.”
The corner of her lip tugged upwards slightly, “Don’t think it’s my place to tell that to you, you should ask Satoru about it. Or Suguru now since you’re working for him,” internally, you groaned at her very helpful inquiry, but still, the curiosity wedged in your heart.
Satoru had been extra busy lately, meet ups were rescheduled. Now that he had landed an act as a tree, he was needed during practices and . . . quote unquote, needed for prop making because he was apparently the strongest amongst his peers. It was a stroke to his ego, and Satoru wouldn’t stop telling you about how he helped carry things around the school during this time of the day. And it was bound to happen again.
Though, you don’t mind it at all — in fact, this was much better than the constant flex of social statuses, money, and fame.
“Did they fallout?” You asked, hoping for more enlightment from Shoko who is blissfully smoking her second cigarette of the day, “I just need something. Anything.”
“They fell out, reason? You’d have to ask the both of them,” she shrugs.
Today was one of the days Shoko could have a day off, and she had decided to call you up early in the morning for a little coffee and breakfast. Well, it’s noon now and the both of you were still together, not that you were complaining about it. Times with her are rare, and you’d salvage this moment with her. Her eyes were blankly staring at the people passing by, making sure that every puff of her smoke is directed away from people passing, “I didn’t know they fell out until Suguru came up to talk to me that he was going to move to start a band, actually. It was pretty upsetting, and for a while, I kinda hated them.”
Your eyes softened at her words, “Why?”
“I was there too, wasn’t I?” Her voice died to a soft whisper of solemn, she pressed the burning edge of her cig into the ashtray, pressing on it lightly to kill the fire, “then again, things happen. And it’s really not my place to say anything on their behalves because I’m completely clueless of what actually happened.”
Your thumbs fiddled with each other, Shoko clapped her hands together, “But, I’m completely chill about it now. That was a long time ago, and we’re all good . . . I’m good with the both of them. But them with each other?” She asks herself before shrugging nonchalantly, “Wanna grab dinner together later?”
“You seem to be getting close to Satoru,” Shoko replied, a tinge of slyness in her voice, “I take it everything’s going well then.”
“What? The whole fake dating stuff?” You were nonchalant in answering her, failing to notice the deadpan on her face, “it’s fine. I mean, we’re starting to get to know each other, we went out to see a movie, and stuff. Naoya’s still trying to fuck me up, I swear, he’s everywhere, Ieiri.”
Shoko sighs, “Yeah, that’s what he do. He thinks you can’t get better than him,” there are so many men better than him in every aspect, you rolled your eyes in annoyance, “he won’t stop at nothing to make sure you come back. Which is why Satoru is the perfect choice for this. He’s a total heartstopper.”
You nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I agree.”
“Out of curiosity,” Shoko answers again, sipping on her Americano, “what do you really think of him?”
You got lost in thought. Truthfully, you haven’t known Satoru Gojo for a long time at all, and if you were to be honest; you (shamefully) confess that you barely know him at all. Maybe the surface stuff about him, but if we were talking about what we think of a certain someone. You part your lips, “What do I think of him?” Shoko hums softly, waiting for an answer.
“Well, one,” your thoughts went back to the moments where Satoru drove you home, walked you through the alley, and made sure to wait until you get inside before leaving. Not to mention, the way he pays and teaches you instead of berating you like how Naoya would, “he’s very nice. He walks me home — actually, he drives me there . . . and walks me through the alleyway to my apartment, waits for me to get inside before he leaves. And he tecahes me stuff I don’t understand, and he says nice things to me. Unlike that dickhead, Naoya.”
“What else?”
You groaned, “I’ve known him for what? Going two months maybe, and I don’t know how he really is,” Shoko raised her arms up in mock surrender, finally making sense of it all, “ask me again in a year.”
Shoko grimaced, “I could bet you right now that in a year, you and Satoru are going to be in a loving relationshi—”
You cut her off immediately, “No, I’m saying that I don’t think I’ll be dating anyone soon and that includes Satoru. Despite him being nice,” and why are you talking like he likes you anyways? You shook your head, “and he probably doesn’t see me that way too. We need to stop twisting a completely platonic relationship into something romantic. Yeah?”
“Touche.”
Another thought striked you, “Also,” Shoko already swiveled her face away, “what is with that reaction?”
Shoko blew out a loud and dramatic sigh, “I just know that you’re gonna ask me something about Satoru’s life.”
True, “It’s just pure curiosity. How did he and his ex . . . You know, get together and broke up?” Shoko raises a brow in amusement, “Just curious.”
Shoko’s eyes glinted in a cheshire way, “Glad you asked, I actually just got the full information for that not too long ago. I’m taking full responsibility for what he’s going to say when you tell him that you know about it,” she straightened herself up, “they started dating two years ago. I actually know the girl, which is shocking to me when he told me about it because Suguru and I do not like her at all.”
“Apparently, since college years they had been talking behind our backs. Getting close and all. He confessed that after we graduated, he and his ex-girlfriend apparently started going out a few months after — and mind you, he kept it all a secret until . . .” She points at you and herself, “until all three of us met up so I could match the both of you up. I just knew, and pushed him to tell me about it; also, he got cheated on.”
“Why do you hate the girl?” You questioned.
Shoko hummed, “I wouldn’t say hate. My mistake, I strongly dislike her because we were partnered up a couple of times for a group project and she couldn’t contribute to anything. And by anything, I mean anything. Not even printing costs, transportations, I had to work on everything myself — I did rat her out to my professor and she didn’t pass the class. It’s a mutual thing.”
“Why did she chea—”
Shoko stares deep into your eyes, “All I know is that she never really thought that he was worthy of anything. She just thought he was easy,” you look down at the coffee — the dark brown liquid turning a bit lighter from the melted ice, “we might not see each other much. But, the one thing I can say about Satoru is that when he loves, he loves. And you don’t find that often. So, I guess finding out about this the hard way was very saddening for him.”
You bobbed your head, understanding the situation. “And you know what’s funny?”
Shoko toyed with her straw, “She cheated on him with another mutual good friend of ours,” you bit your lip.
“That sucks.”
“Totally. For someone who just got cheated on, he seems pretty okay — which is also one of his habit, you should take notes. He’s a lonely kid, doesn’t live with his parents anymore. I don’t even think he lives with them back when he was a kid at all. Hard for him to make friends, and he doesn’t talk much if you don’t talk first. So, I guess he felt the comfort with you. That’s good. He loves going outside if he has someone to go with, besides that? He locks himself in and plays games.”
The information opened a new vision and you nod your head, “Okay. Okay. Thank you . . .”
“Thanks for driving me.”
Shoko pokes her head out, “Hey, the alleyway’s pretty dark. Sure you can walk alone? I don’t mind risking a shif—”
“No, your shift is to save lives, gosh. I’ll be okay,” you waved your hand slowly, ushering her away, “it’s fine. Thanks for driving me home, Ieiri. Safe trips home,” Shoko smiles at you, rolling her windows up. You hear her honk three times before taking off into the streets.
The messages end right then and there, and you look around; night breeze caressing your skin gently — walking towards the wall right by the mouth of the alley, you plant your back to it. Shifting left and right, bored. Hands shoved right inside the pockets of your pants to warm them from the crispy air, shoulders rolling in a shiver. You had no idea why you were waiting for him too, maybe a part of you wanted him to walk you inside after all.
No longer than 10 minutes later, his familiar Sedan parked right by the sidewalk in front of you. A small smile tinged on your face at the sight of white mop of hair, instinctively you walked closer to him. The streaks of dark green paint and red ones on his cheek were apparent, and a shy smile displayed on his face.
“Sorry, did you wait long?” He brushed his hands against his white shirt —no, not white anymore. Barely even white actually, it had paint all over it now, and you were sure it was a result of his tree and prop making— Satoru looks down at you, “It’s chilly. You didn’t bring a jacket?”
Your head shook lightly, “No. I didn’t think it was gonna be this cold,” truthfully, it wasn’t actually that cold. You just couldn’t help but to agree at his statement, in fact the words came out before you could process it, “you came all the way here just to walk me inside here,” your hand gestured towards the mouth of the entrance.
Satoru took off his glasses, shouldering the sweat on his nosebridge, “Yeah. If you haven’t noticed, it’s creepy in there. Instead of you getting scared alone, we should be scared together,” he was scared all this time? Now the guilt pooled on the bottom of your stomach, swirling at his words.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
His fingers slid the glasses back into place, and the alluring cerulean glinted happily, “I actually wanted to, and I’m more than happy to do it. It’s my decision, no?” Smart, you bobbed your head in agreement, not being able to deny that, “Let’s get you home then.”
He walks first, guiding you into the alleyway. Satoru was tall enough to hide your view in front, all you could see is the outline of his back, and it made you feel safe. Satoru pops out of the other side with a smile, the streaks of paint crinkling under the strain of his skin, “How was your day?”
“Good,” you answered him slowly, “yours?”
Is he about to flex about his strength again? Satoru parts his lips, “Better now. It was tiring, but at least we got to meet. Ice cream tomorrow then? We can agree on that, right?” You grinned at him.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
Last night, you’d spare 2 minutes of your time to send him a quick message to confirm that it was you. It was left on read, with an additional thumbs up emoji to sindicate that whoever read it actually received it. To get a job is pretty exciting, which was of course odd because people around don’t seem to be having fun in their own jobs. And if money don’t matter —you were sure the world would be a happy place. Minus the fact that everything would be chaotic, but that was besides the point.
Money does buy happiness, and whoever said it didn’t could go to hell.
You didn’t waste any time grabbing your sketchbook to make a rough sketch of his poster, this was important. They were actually going on a national tour —and people will see your design, which was an extra boost on your branding. This was going to be good on your portfolio, actually (crazy enough, you did build one for future purposes).
Roughly 2 hours later, you had a rough sketch sent to Suguru. And to be frankly honest, you don’t take him for someone who would reply quick; but his reply came in, and you were 100% sure this was Suguru considering he . . . Texts like he talks.
That night, you “in a joking manner” sent a message to Satoru. Lighting up the flame that had almost died from the lack of talking. He had replied later than Suguru, you could understand considering how busy he must be with grading papers and . . . Practicing to be a tree. The conversation lit back up when Satoru had offered you a ticket for a new horror movie next week. Perfect timing, you weren’t busy and you had so many things to talk about with him regarding your new job with Suguru.
Who knows, maybe they could meet back up. Hence, why you were out with a loose sweater and pants for a trip to the movie theater —the air conditioning was cold despite how hot the afternoon had been. And as much as you appreciated a little coolness, it was over the top . . . And you didn’t need to be walking down the aisle alone for a short trip to the restroom mid movie. One, it risks you getting jumpscared mid walk and resulting in a fall; if lucky, just a little jolt. Two (only if you fall), it would be embarrassing to come back after a fall and get cozy back in the seat. Imagine, what would Satoru say about it?
“I bought you popcorn, I didn’t know which one you liked so I had them mix the butter and sugar up . . . Oh, also! Lemon tea, and I had extra jelly in them. Trust me, they’re the best,” you know how movie theaters serve overpriced popcorn and drinks you can get outside for much much cheaper. Don’t get me wrong, in this economy? You can’t help but to feel bad because of it, “I want to treat you. As a token of our friendship —and for the fact that I might have came off as rude when we first met. I didn’t know how to react.”
“I didn’t think you were rude at all,” in fact, you felt like he could have been rude-r about it because you were sure you would be if you were him, “and thank you so much, Satoru. You didn’t have to do that, you know right?”
He had a shy smile on his face. Teeth gently nipping on his bottom lip, “I wanted to. You’ve been through a lot of bullcrap, especially with your ex-boyfriend. I hope this makes you feel a little bit better,” he hands you one of the drinks which you took with ease, thanking him one last time for it before he slowly walks towards the studio —now that you realized, he paid for the tickets and food. Does this consider as an official ‘first’ date for the plan? Well, even if it isn’t, you’d still conclude it as one when Naoya asks about it (he will come back, channel the inner zen, you could feel a little evil spirit coming sooner or later).
“How much are the tickets?” You asked, sipping the drink.
“Free,” he replied back nonchalantly, stealing a glance, “my treat. I don’t want you asking about it anymore tonight or reminding me about it. Yeah?”
“I’d feel bad.”
He grunts, “I guess you could feel bad, I don’t mind,” he spoke in a lighthearted way that you can’t help but to nudge your elbow at his bicep, “just clarifying, I watched the trailer and it was a little scary.”
“I’m not scared of jumpscares.”
You were in fact scared of jumpscares. One, the thing your feared most: getting jumpscared mid walk down to the restroom happened. Thankfully, no falls, just a little yelp for the audience (not your fault, mind you, there were people screaming inside). Two, Satoru had taken a random swing from your elbow during one of the jumpscares and . . . Let’s just say that his skin was a bit on the sensitive side, so here he walks with a bright smile and a red mark on the side of his cheek like a trophy.
“Gosh, I am so sorry, Satoru . . . I didn’t expect the jumpscare to be like that,” he pursed his lips into a wide smile, the corner of his eyes crinkled at your panicked state, “please don’t do that, you’re actually scaring me with your smile. What are your intentions?”
Satoru laughs loudly. Brushing his hair back, “It’s fine, that was the first time I’ve received an elbow to the face in a movie theater. You’re good, and it doesn’t hurt. Don’t worry about it, you’ve apologized like three times,” you puckered your lips at the sound of his laughter and the way he just brushed it off, because the sound when your elbow connected with his face does sound serious, “it hurts before, but it doesn’t now. You didn’t do it on purpose either, so don’t worry about it, (Name).”
Your cheeks felt warm from the embarrassment and shame. This wasn’t supposed to happen right now, and the fact that Satoru looked like he had the time of his life made it even worse! You’d honestly feel better if he were to click his tongue in disdain because that’s how people shuould react, right? Not to laugh it off and tell you it’s fine, “I still feel bad. Can I please take you for dinner right now? My treat. You’ve done too much tonight,” he hummed softly, tutting his finger sheepishly, “come on, please? It’s the least I could do after hitting you.”
“Not on purpose,” he counters, “and plus, it’s refreshing.”
“Dinner is okay then?”
He looks up, nodding, “Dinner sounds great actually,” the sun was beginning to dip under the horizon as the familiar orange-ish hue colored the sky here and there, “what do you feel like eating right now? Maybe something soothing . . . Hotpot?”
You perked up at the suggestion, “Hotpot is perfect.”
The streets were packed to the brim —no, that was an overstatment. Sure, it is packed, cars honking, people on bikes swerving here and there passing through little gaps, and people brushing by other people to make it to their own destinations. Satoru and you resided in a small area by the side, your shoulders nearly pressing into the walls of shops; initially, you had been walking on the outer parts of the street, but Satoru had swerved right by you with the excuse of “liking it better on the outer part”, it could be a lie . . . Or not, only he knows.
The hotpot restaurant wasn’t packed, at least there were still tables free unlike the lines you saw from several shop outside. Chillers were filled to the brim with raw ingredients ranging from the freshest greens to fresh seafood. Both Satoru and you were given the usual golden colored pot for each your own kind of creation, you reached out for the tongs, gripping them with resilience. Already nitpicking the usual ingredients with known movements. Satoru put much more thoughts on his pot; but half of what you have in your pot is in his too.
Satoru sat across from you, grinning, “Do you get hotpot often?”
Your chin laid on your open palm as you shook your head, “I can count the amount of times I’ve ever eaten a hotpot with my fingers, and right now? Probably five times, six with this one,” hotpot could be pretty expensive when you let yourself go with all the ingredient grabbing — every 100 grams was unpredcitable. You were sure you garbbed at least less than 700 grams once, and you exceeded your expectations. Eating alone as well, couldn’t blame yourself, it was your first time eating that time.
Satoru’s head hung, “Me too. On special occassions maybe. The faculty loves to have a good hotpot every once in a while though, I just come by to eat and go,” his explanation is lighthearted and he looks around, “this is the first time I’ve been in this shop though. I might recommend it to them.”
“Do you guys drink too?”
He laughs nervously, taking off his glasses —the little marks etched into his skin from the nosepads of his glasses raged red— and laying them on the table right by the tissue box. His head shook from side to side, fingers raised up to thread along his hair, “I actually hate alcohol, I can do a couple gulps . . . But, that’s about it. I’m not a really strong drinker,” the tip of his ears turned slightly red from his confession, “I don’t like the taste of it.”
A hum escaped from your throat, “I could understand that, it could be pretty rancid.”
“Right? It’s just . . . Fizzy and bitter.”
“Mhm, though you should try soda and alcohol. It could be a pretty awesome combination,” you tell him, moving slightly backward as the waitress delivered the pot of your orders to your table — the (broth of your choice) soup making your mouth salivate at the sight, “personally, I think hotpot goes better after alcohol. It just kinda washes the alcohol away after.”
“Really? I think alcohol doesn’t go with anything,” a chuckle emits from your lips, you watch him scoop a spoonful of broth before sipping it slowly, eyes shutting from the heat of it.
“This is really good,” you could already picture the spicy trail that would form around his lips from the slightly spicy broth, and not to mention how hot the broth was currently which would definitely amplify the spiciness of it, “it’s a little spicy, but it’s good.”
Then the topic of Suguru struck you, and you cleared your throat, “So, I got a side job thing . . . Full-time, actually. But, I don’t work everyday and I work from home, guess who my boss is?” Satoru blew on a piece of thin sliced beef, “The clue is that his name starts with a letter S.”
“Suguru?” His eyes widened.
“Bingo, his band needed a graphic designer since the old one bailed and I just happened to walk pass the flyer. Weird coincidence, right?” Satoru took a sip out of his soda can, sitting back, “His band is going for a tour in Japan in a bit.”
“I haven’t been on speaking terms with him. To be really honest with you,” your smile dropped and you blinked —was this a bad time to bring Suguru up into this conversation? And it seems like your face explained everything as Satoru scrambled to reassure you, “it’s nothing bad. We had a little fight before he left to pursue his dreams, I still think of him as a close friend and I really missed him. How does he look? Healthy?” You don’t miss the tinge of excitement in his voice.
You explained to him, “Yeah, he and his bandmates seemed to be doing good. They have a studio on the second floor of a bookstore, and . . .” they looks like rich kids throwing away money for a graphic designer, you’d like to tell him but shake your head at the thought that might ruin your paycheck, “and yeah, they seem to be thriving.”
Satoru continued eating his hotpot, “I don’t like his bandmates. We fought because of them, I’m guessing . . . Pink hair, tattoos, permanent bitch face?” He must be talking about Sukuna, and he took your silence as a confirmation, “he used to get into a lot of fights. I was afraid that Suguru might be pulled into the wrong crowd. This and that happened, we haven’t talked since then, but if we do meet, I hope we could talk things out. Does he know that you know me?”
“No, I only mentioned Ieiri.”
“Good, good.”
“Sorry for bringing that up—”
Satoru cuts you off with a sheepish wave of his hand, “You didn’t know, and I don’t mind talking about it at all. It’s great that he’s doing well,” you weren’t a psychology master or were you a master of reading people’s mind — but you could definitely tell that the topic of Suguru was something that he was uncomfortable with. The gears in your brain reeled to think of another topic, far away from Suguru or his bandmates.
“Oh, I started opening my commissions again,” you blurt out in a moment of panic, hoping that Satoru wouldn’t mention anything about the sudden change of topics, “I haven’t gotten any customers besides regulars, but hey, it keeps food on the plate. And can I just tell you how relieved I am that my regulars are complete sweethearts? Because that last client made me mis-uh-rable.”
Satoru emits a giggle, “I could understand that,” beads of sweat began forming on the side of his head, “it’s good that you decided to take a break from opening your commissions. Forcing yourself could lead to burnout, and it’s the worst thing ever.”
“Have you ever feel burnt out?”
Satoru nods, “I took a break from gaming for a year because I was so intense on it, day and night, focused on being the best player, focus on stats. It wasn’t fun anymore, and I moved on to building games —I built houses for fun everyday for a year,” he shrugs his shoulders lightly, “I got back to my original game and just focused on the story instead, much more fun than focusing on the characters’ stats and power. It felt too greedy and I got angry when I lose.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Right?” He chuckled, clacking his chopsticks gently against the corner of his pot. He slurped the broth like he hadn’t drank any form of liquid for years, “I’m all done. This is great.”
Your pot was nowhere near close to done, just a few things have disappeared from the broth. Most of the meat, that’s one. Although, you’ve realized that you’ve scooped up more broth than ingredients from the pot. Satoru sat there, smiling, beads of sweat dropping from his forehead —he took a sheet of tissue, pressing it onto his forehead. The salty droplets seeping into the tissue, turning it an almost transluscent color.
You quickly finished your hotpot, and like you promised; you did pay for it, although he insisted that he should do it. You managed to convince him by saying that he left his phone on the table, and he actually went to check on it. Though, as return when the two of you walked back to the movie theater not too far away where you both walked from earlier, Satoru convinced you that he should drive you back home with the excuse of it being “too dangerous” for you to walk alone.
And like the other time, he courts you along the dark alleyway. His cologne merging with the pungent smell from cigarettes arond the two of you. And once you stood in front of the old door of your apartment complex, Satoru stood there waiting for you to enter before he leaves. You wonder why, “I’m okay now. Thanks for walking me here, Satoru. I had a lot of fun today.”
Satoru smiles, “Just wanna make sure you get in safely. You do know that annually, the police handles around three thousand and seven hundred cases of stalking, which includes illegal entry and home intrusions. I want to make sure you get in alone,” the thought of him waiting for you to go in made you feel like a jelly. The warmth on your face made your whole body fuse.
“ . . . Good night, Satoru. Thank you for today, have a safe trip home, okay?” Satoru waves his hand in return before his fingers shoo-ed you inside quickly.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
Home doesn’t feel like home when you have a lot of work to do. Hence why you woke up right before your alarm could blare right by your ear, crazy intuition. All you did was change into a (color) shirt and some loose pants before you took off to a diner near your apartment complex, for brunch too, you thought.
Your client had been downright insufferable, the constant check-ins from her every few hours made it unbearable! Not even the sweetness of home sweet home could help; so, here you were parched by the window seat with your laptop rolling across your face, dragging the stylus against the drawing pad sluggishly —with your back hunched, you blew blueberries in annoyance as another notification from your client pops up on the bottom right of the screen, questioning your progress so far.
You pressed on the ‘do not disturb’ feature, cranky from the bad morning. You made it clear to her that she’ll get a progress update every couple of days, and she agreed. Yet, she seemed adamant on checking in everyday like an obsessed girlfriend. Currently, your only fuel was coffee, waiting for the time to strike lunch to eat a two-in-one brunch set from this diner. And so, you were even more cranky —no, more of hangry. Hungry and angry.
Two missed calls from your client was enough for you to archive her message and put her on mute, replying with a simple, “This is the last update for today, I’m currently trying to color in your work. Please, stop checking and resort to calling when I don’t answer every hour as it delays me. Thank you,” sure you’ve had annoying clients before, but this was top notch, you weren’t even sure if it’s consider as annoying anymore.
Another sigh was pushed out of your body, could this morning get any worse?
“I thought I saw someone familiar,” No fucking way.
You don’t need to bat an eyelash or put a thought to it —because you knew that voice better than anyone. 7 years wasted, of course his voice was bound to be engraved into your head. Your head rose up slowly, looking at him. Naoya Zenin stood there with a smug smirk on his face, black tailored suit, and professional looking attire. The expensive watch you saved up for years to buy him which he “considered” as one of the cheapest brands tied around his wrist, “What do you want?”
“Is that a way to greet your ex-boyfriend?”
“No, but it is a way to greet a dickhead, the fuck do you want from me?” Naoya smiled smugly, in a condescending way he stared down at you, his eyes raked over the table; full of your things, the one that he deemed ‘messy’ to his house whenever you stayed over to work or to simply hang out, “Gosh, you are so annoying.”
“How does it feel to be poor?”
You froze. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, “You could have stayed and have anything you want with me,” he drawls out calmly, and even then, you had already have your fists balled tightly, “but over a Reddit post where I was speaking nothing but the truth? You got a little hurt over a . . . Post? Look at you now. Still as pitiful and pathetic as ever when all I wanted was to give you the best.”
“Over a post my boyfriend made about me, of course I’m angry. You don’t believe in me, your own partner,” trying to keep your voice low, you look around the diner. This all made sense now, he had took the time to come inside a lousy and cheap diner just because he caught sight of you, and the sole reason of his appearance was simple, to taunt you. And you’re falling for it, “you are so selfish and so full of yourself. Gosh, I hope you go bankrupt soon.”
“Oh? I gave you everything you needed, didn’t I?” That was partially right, you refused anymore gifts after he suggested to buy you a vaccuum cleaner —which was aggravating, since he hinted that you’d definitely need it to clean his house, “you’ll come back soon, you’re poor. And you have nobody, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t take you in even if you got evicted. She’s not as nice as I am.”
Is he talking about Shoko? You grit your teeth, “Don’t say shit you don’t know. Get the fuck out of my face,” he raised his hands up in mock surrender, knowing he had won pulling your strings today, he was satisfied.
“My door is always open when your career doesn’t work,” he walks away just like that.
The hell is his problem? You grunted under your breath, watching him get into his car, and drove away. The engine he paid hundreds and thousands for roaring loudly along the street, you remembered always getting ashamed when people sparred dirty looks at his car during traffic, “Douchebag,” the insult just came out. First, your client. Then, Naoya. What’s the third one?
When the hours pass by slow and time hangs heavy, you could finally punch in the order for that brunch set. Digging into the large plate, you grip onto the fork with such force that your knuckles trembled slightly. How does one be so annoying, condescending, and ugly hearted at once? Surely he could pick a struggle. Naoya’s words rang in your head, and then again, a wave of second-guesses began crashing into you.
What if this doesn’t turn out good? What if your career don’t work? So many what ifs and none could be answered because your self-doubt was clashing with your confidence, your jaw slacked and tightened every now and then, a strip of seaweed tucked in between your lips from the miso soup.
“That’s Zoro, right? From One Piece?”
The voice made you coax yourself to pan away from the plate of food, only to meet Gjojo Satoru, standing there with a file in his grasp. Swallowing the food, you nod, “It’s a commission I’m doing.”
“The commission from last time we met?” You nodded, “Mind if I join?”
You shook your head, gesturing to the spot across from you, “Not at all if you don’t plan on explaining some physics because my brain can’t take it right now,” he slid into the seat, putting his file aside, “shouldn’t you be teaching right now?”
“Recess.”
“Oh, you’re right.”
“Curiously asking, how much do you charge that?” His finger taps on your laptop gently, signifying the art you were currently drawing, “I’m trying to judge your marketing price here.”
“Enough to buy food for a week . . . Maybe a couple of days more.”
His brow raised, “Charge more.”
“Half a month?”
“A month . . . At best. Maybe a month and a couple weeks, you’re making full body drawings with custom —also handmade— backgrounds. It takes time, brain work, and energy. So, yes, a full month with a little extra,” he advices, with a shy smile lacing on his lips, “people might think you charge too much, but I’ve always thought that they think this is easier said than done. They don’t see what you sacrifice to draw for them, you don’t have to be scared to charge for what’s equal to the amount you give. I’ve seen people charge an art equal to a phone, and people still buy it.”
His words like a soothing balm on your open wound made you smile, the raging storm Naoya brought in slowly swept away and rays of sunshine seeped into your smile, “You think so?”
“I know I’d commission you, you have an unique art style,” he compliments.
“Thank you. But, do you usually eat here for recess?”
“Oddly,” Satoru starts, looking down at his hands neatly folded on the table, “I’ve never been here nor do I wanted to until today. I guess it just brought me here to meet you, since you looked overwhelmed . . .” His laugh echoes softly, lighthearted.
“Yeah . . .” You replied, a solemn smile on your face, “What did you order?”
“What you ordered. The brunch set, it looked great, I just had to get it,” Satoru mutters out, looking around, “and it’s cheap too. Do you go here a lot?”
You hum, “Mhm. Because they’re affordable, and they got free wi-fi too.”
Satoru looks around the area slowly, “Guess I found my second go-to.”
“I gotta head back soon, it was nice spending lunch with you though,” Satoru suddenly said, wiping his lips gently with the extra napkin he had set aside, “I oughta be late if I don’t go now. I’ll catch you sometimes though?” His eyes laced with uncertainity made you chuckle, but you nodded, waving your hand.
Satoru looked back over his shoulder, a small smile popped onto his lips —that he had just smeared with a lipbalm briefly before he stood— and waved at you, mouthing out a simple, ‘bye’.
The pressure and lingering ache in your heart quickly dissipates into pure joy the moment Satoru had spoken the words you yearned to hear from Naoya. This wasn’t Naoya, but you weren’t sad; maybe you would have been months ago, but somehow you were just glad that it isn’t him this time. And the moment the colors in your canvas began blooming under black streaks of sketch, you saved your work and packed up. Prompting to take a picture to send an update to your client because the “23+ messages” from her was not looking good right now.
Another round of revision, not even the dozen of revisions back and forth from her was enough for the art to be perfect. By far, she was the hardest consument to satisfy, you couldn’t blame her, this was your job. But, sometimes you’d like to just . . . cancel transaction and live on with your day. For gosh sake, you don’t even know this person personally!
Yet again, you couldn’t help but to quietly shake your head, carrying your laptop bag along as you walked down the street. The skies were gradually turning a shade of navy blue from a beautiful harmony of pink and orange hues —the streets were bustling with people racing to go home to their humble abode after a long day of work, honking of cars and motorbikes etched into your eardrums as you turned around a corner to approach a shortcut to your apartment complex.
The faint echoes of water droplets skyrocketing from an AC pipe pattered against the concrete, and you avoided meeting eyes with the couple of scary looking group of boys and girls huddled on the corner, your phone in hand, an act to ensure your safety. Once, the end of the alley greets you, you put your phone aside inside your pocket. Crickets sung inside patches of grass, and frogs sounding their repetitive tone loudly, you made your way inside the apartment building.
With a light push, the door swung open, a soft creak from the slightly rustic hinges made you cringe away slightly. The apartment complex was an old one, it had stood since 5 decades back, and most of the tenants were people with family. It had been an expensive apartment back when it first opened, but with the city eventually growing more and more, people built newer and more innovative places to stay. The prices eventually dropped, but it still made a good place to live despite most of the shortcomings were from the environment solely.
The air hits different when you finally unlocked the door to your room, it still oddly smells like the cheap floral cologne you sprayed on this morning. Oddly, because it never does to stay longer than a couple hours on you. Kicking the door shut with the tip of your toe, you walked towards the kitchen, putting your laptop onto the counter to rest while you venture the cabinets for dinner —instant ramen with eggs, and possibly the week old frozen sausages you kept for this moment— and to your luck, you still had a couple.
A mental note to yourself: get some ramen when you go out tomorrow.
Whilst waiting for the water to boil, you opened your phone. Chopsticks lodged in between your fingers as you typed a quick message to Shoko, eyes going back and forth to the pan. The sausages soaked under running water in the sink to rid of all the ice.
The bubbles began rising to the top of the water surface, and you dropped the noodle inside. Watching the solid noodle soak in the boiling water, you ripped the edge of the seasoning in between your teeth; shaking the tinfoil packaging gently on top of the pan before you began stirring it. While waiting for the noodles to change it’s matter of state, you find yourself chopping a few small cheese-filled sausages, tossing each piece into the pan along with one egg. A soft tune climbed up your throat, fingers drummed against the counter as you counted the seconds, eyeing as the egg began forming into a solid matter on top of the noodles.
When the stove dies under your command, you carried the pan onto the coffee table set in your living room. Already reaching out to the TV remote on the couch, the steam caressed your face gently as your thumb presses along the channels —when something catches your attention, the feast finally begins.
