worth the wait
satoru gojo x fem reader, 800 words mdni
contents: sfw, teaching assistant!gojo, student!reader, tutoring, disinterested reader/playing hard to get, reader and geto are friends, some bullet point format and some prose
notes: i like this set up, so i’ll probably add more to this in the future. any prompts/thirsts/ideas via ask are welcome. also it’s 4am and i’m working in the morning so keep me in your prayers
You’re not bad at biology, but let’s just say waiting until your last year of college to fulfill your life sciences requirement means you're a little rusty.
Thankfully Gojo Satoru (one year below you but embarrassingly far ahead in everything else) is always there to help you out.
He’s a player. You know he’s a player. But you hadn’t expected that he’d set his sights on you— not only because this is the first time you’ve interacted on a regular basis, but also because he’s your TA and this is a yearlong course. There are some lines you just shouldn’t cross, especially not this close to graduation.
But it’s not so bad. For one thing, he always makes time to meet with you even though you know he’s gotta be canceling plans to do it.
Another is that he’s used to getting what he wants, and it’s kind of cute seeing how frustrated he gets when you pretend not to notice his advances.
Gojo is charming, and you genuinely enjoy his company when he’s not acting like a creep. But when you find out he’s stopped pursuing other people, you begin to worry that he’s caught feelings.
And even more concerning: that you may have caught them as well.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” says Gojo, half shouting over the music.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” You take another swig from the red solo cup in your hand. “So you didn’t specifically ask Geto to invite me, then?”
To his credit, he barely reacts to the accusation, taking a sip of Hi-C and looking at you with wide, innocent eyes.
“You and Suguru are friends, right? I don’t know why you think I’d have to ask him to invite you.”
Pulling out your phone, you unlock it and open your texts with Geto. After a moment of scrolling you turn and show him the screen.
You’re coming on Friday right? Satoru keeps asking.
“Traitor,” Gojo mutters as you shut the phone off and shove it back into your pocket. He eyes your outfit. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, just jeans and a sweatshirt.
“You could’ve just asked me yourself,” you say, leaning close enough for him to hear.
He looks down at you, his eyes half lidded, and wonders if this is finally you giving in. “Would you have said yes?”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you seem to think for a minute. “No, probably not. I’m not much of a party person— I only came because Geto bribed me with dinner.”
“I could take you to dinner,” says Gojo, and he hates the little edge of bitterness buried in the words. Jealousy has never been his style, and he has no desire to change that now.
“You could,” you acknowledge, nodding. “But only if you help me study for midterms. And if you pay.”
There’s no hesitation in Gojo’s answer.
“Done.”
A little smile plays on your lips and Gojo’s eyes flick down to them before he remembers that he’s not wearing his glasses. Shit. But he’s glad he looked, because that’s the biggest reaction he’s ever gotten from you.
“Hey, you made it!”
Geto seems to appear out of nowhere, or maybe it’s just that Gojo has been so focused on you. He watches with distaste as you give his best friend a one armed hug, holding your drink to the side so as not to spill it.
“Yes, I did. How long did you say I had to stay?”
“Half an hour.”
Taking a sip, your eyes shift to the clock on the wall. “Only ten more minutes then. Is it okay if I crash in your room for a bit? It’s kind of overwhelming being around so many people.”
“Fine with me.” Geto shoots Gojo a semi-apologetic glance before shifting his attention back to you. “I’ll show you where it is.”
You turn to Gojo, leaning closer again so that you don’t have to shout. He’s glad the music’s loud enough to mask his little intake of breath when you brush up against him.
“See you later, Gojo. I’ll text you about dinner.”
You don’t have my number, he wants to say, but by the time he collects himself you’re already gone. He finishes off his Hi-C like it’s a shot of something strong, eyes lingering on the spot where you’d been a moment before.
This is getting out of hand.
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