The last piece of the Halloween costume
Summary: In desperation, you search for a set of wings to complete your last-minute Halloween costume. As you do that, you run into, and insult, a man who seems to think you have more potential to you than a simple university party girl. And for some reason Gojo is dead set on having you join ‘Jujutsu University’... whatever that is…
Pairing: Fem! Reader x Satoru Gojo
Warnings: This fic contains some suggestive content and unhealthy power dynamics/ relationship between (future) teacher and student, and is not suitable for all audiences. In addition, there's cursing, alcohol consumption, hints at bullying, dirty language and probably something else I missed. It’s complicated and light angst. Read at your own risk.
“I swear they don’t have them!”
You huffed loudly, crouched down into a squat, your hands frantically searching through the piles of plastic bags of cheaply made costumes carelessly stuffed into the bottom shelf of the tiny pop-up store. You shuffled, reshuffled and pulled out some bags before stuffing them carelessly back in. Only to repeat the search cycle again and a third time as if new costumes would magically materialize..
This rough-handling earned you the stink eye from the store attendant and the few other patrons who were waiting for you to be done. You didn’t care about the glares, the pointed coughs, or the not-so-subtle comments about you not being the only one in the world. Instead, you raised your shoulder and pressed your phone closer against your ear ignoring everyone. “I’m telling you, they don’t have a single pair of black wings. I am not even hoping for bat wings at this point; any wings will do. Just give me the frame, and I’ll fix the rest! But they’re cleaned out: NADA, not a single one!”
“Well, then it sounds like you’ll be going in one of those shitty off-brand costumes. So what will it be, hun? Slutty nun? Slutty pirate? ohh ohh maybe slutty vampire?”
“What? And have Saori and her goons rub it in my face all night? In that case, I may as well just not show up at all,” your voice came out loud and whiny as you shoved the plastic bags back into their drawer.
Your eyes filled with hate as you stared at the costumes as though they were somehow at fault for your misfortune. You had made a pair of absolutely stunning leathery bat wings, spent months designing every vein to be perfect, only for the damned neighbour's pipe to burst and flood your entire damned apartment. Water damage aside, your wings now smelled of damp swamp and sewage with no chance to salvage them before that night's Halloween party. Your only option was to find a ready-made frame and re-dress it into something less cheap. It wouldn’t be fancy, but with a good layer of makeup and glitter, you could maybe make it look classy.
“Yo. You’re gonna dig a hole to China if you keep that up.” The voice came from right behind you, leaned over your shoulder. The tone was light, amused and far too damned close. It moved away just as you jumped, your knees popping as you spun around from your crouch. Your lips were set into a surprised ‘o’ as you turned to face the ‘annoyance’ that dared to disturb your existential crisis. How did someone that tall get so close without you hearing?
You stared up at him, Tall. Snow-white hair, a black blindfold wrapped around his eyes like some half- knock off skimask, and a dark, high-collared uniform that looked nothing like the cheap polyester around him. He reminded you of one of those fancy cosplayers who sewed everything by hand, and all-time ready for trick-or-treating despite being at least a decade too old for that. Then again, you weren’t in your teens either, so maybe the pot shouldn’t call the kettle black. This damned man was leaning against the shelf of wigs, long legs taking up all the space in the aisle, looking utterly, annoyingly at ease.
“Some of us are here for actual last-minute emergencies,” he said his grin evident in his voice.
You released the breath you were holding and stood up. “Whatever,” you huffed, moving to walk past him. You purposefully bumped your shoulder against him as you rounded the corner, a petty, frustrated payback for startling you. The bastard barely moved, it was like you shoved a brick wall, but he did shift enough to knock down some hooks. The loud metallic clang barely drowned out his sharp intake of breath and the almost as quiet, “Oh? Interesting.”
You grimaced at the sudden stab of guilt. You hadn’t meant to be an ass; you almost stopped and turned around to check the damage. But then, just as quickly, you pushed that thought down and rushed out of the store. Lingering would only embarrass you further.
“Okay— anyway dear so there’s one last open gimmicky store, and you should make it before closing time, so you start by going left…”
Your best friend's voice came back over the phone. It was a welcomed distraction as you hurried down the street, away from the odd man and the commotion you caused. Disregarding your guilt, you focused all the mental energy on a prayer; you knew you didn’t deserve divine intervention, but you naively prayed that someone or something would save you from Saori terrorizing you at the Halloween party. And for that, you needed to find a pair of wings in the last store. Surely that couldn’t be too big an ask?
But luck wasn’t on your side. The final store had no wings at all. Or pirates. Or nuns. The only costume in your size was an overpriced, shoddy Harley Quinn monstrosity from the latest suicide squad. Mini shorts, fishnets, a torn shirt and a flimsy rain poncho with tassels that the seller dared to call a ‘jacket’. The fun accessories- like the jewely, the heels and the baseball bat you had to buy separately. You purchased it, though, on impulse and in a wave of desperation, and regretted it the second you stepped back out into the afternoon street. Before you could go back in, you heard the unmistakable click of the lock behind you and knew that your chances of returning the fashion disaster evaporated with it.
“Why such a disappointed face? The night is young! Want a lollie or something?” It was that voice again that materialized beside you like Casper the ghost with attachment issues. Arms full of shopping bags from some Halloween pop-up store, Daiso, and a whole marzipan pumpkin from a French bakery in the out-of-your-budget area of the city. A cheap pair of candy fangs and lollies poked out of his mouth. The second he had your attention, he bit them in half. Like an animal.
Before you could say a word, to apologize or accuse him of stalking, he reached into a bag. The next thing you knew, a plastic headband with giant, bloody googly eyes on springs was bouncing on your head.
You gaped at his audacity.
“Aha! Perfect. Now you look appropriately horrified and morbid. Matches your attitude and everything. Besides that’s what you youngsters like right? Gory, corny, creepy things, yeah ? I’ve got also cat ears and pumpkins if you’re more into that.”
You stood stunned for a second, then reached up and ripped the headband off, messing up your hair in the process. “How would I know?! I’m not a ‘youngster’, and what the heck is your problem anyway?” you snapped, throwing it at him. The diadem hit the ground between you.
You turned on your heel to leave.
“Sheesh, and here I was, being nice to the grumpy costume-searcher. Your bad vibes are so strong I could sense them from the candy store.” His tone was light, like he was commenting on the weather. You kept walking “Aj aj aj, c’mon, aren’t you at least going to give it back to me politely? I’ve gone out of my way to do something nice for a stranger, even after she shoved me into a stand for nothing~”
Your steps faltered. Damned guilt. He was right. You’d been rude to this stranger twice now. Your cheeks flushed pink as you stood frozen, your anxiety trying to get you to run away, and your guilt kept your legs frozen in place. You knew he was likely toying with you, or maybe even manipulating you. The smartest thing would be to leave and not engage, And yet, turning back, you snatched the headband off the pavement. You marched up to him and slapped it against the only part of his chest not covered by the shopping bags. You felt the fine material of his uniform, silk and definitely pleasant to wear and the solid muscle underneath that flinched slightly at your touch. “There. Happy?”
He didn’t take it. He just kept grinning like he won the lottery “Thrilled. You’ve got a real spark, you know that? Honest potential that I could help you-”
“Thanks, but I’m not interested; try a pick-up line that isn’t licked off the internet,” you cut him off dryly, turning away again.
He caught the diadem before it hit the ground. His laughter though, it followed you down the street like some ominous omen from a madman, except it was bright, unashamed, and utterly infuriating. “Seriously interesting! You should reconsider!” you heard him call down the street before you ducked down into the subway.
You thought he was an ass. An intriguing ass, but still an ass.
But you forced yourself to forget all about him the second your friend called you back with party updates. No way were you telling her you'd embarrassed yourself twice in front of the same guy. If she found out, she’d never let you live it down. Besides, you'd never see him again. No matter how much energy he brought into your short encounters, or how alive you felt after. No you pushed those feelings far down into the back of your mind and focused on the more pressing issues, the Halloween party. The same party your best friend was ranting and gossiping about during your trip home, trying to get you hyped up for both of your sakes. Once home, you choked down some dinner and made frantic attempts to make the Harley outfit look less cheap.
The time flew by and disappeared and suddenly you were there. At your university campus. Hoping your reputation and connections survived this night.
The Halloween party was in the biggest event building on campus. Usually the building was reserved for formal stuf and important guestsf, but tonight it was all fake cobwebs and strobe lights. The windows were covered in black plastic and bloody handprint stickers. The doors replaced with creepy shower curtains. The music was some kind of Halloween techno which thumped so hard you could feel it in your chest, all the way from the basement to the attic.
The biggest party of the year.
You stood with your friend by the drinks table, right next to the dance floor. It was packed with zombies and vampires, but you felt completely out of place. It wasn't that your costume was bad. It was just like everyone else's: already there were six other Harley Quinns. When the seventh walked in, you felt your last bit of patience snap.
And then you saw her. Saori and her crew walk in like they owned the place. Your childhood friend turned enemy, the one whose mom married rich. The Saori who spent years building her popularity by making you the joke. Her objective was childish and simple: if everyone was laughing at you, they weren't looking or judging her.
You hated her and her friends almost as much as you were jealous of them. And they? They loved to remind you how much better they were. And their latest favourite jab was pointing out how you didn't even live up to your own expectations (let alone be on par with theirs!). You saw them look you over and whisper, and your face got hot in the dark. You could guess their insults:
The seamstress’s daughter. In a store-bought rag.
They started cutting through the crowd toward you, and people just moving out of their way like the sea parted for Moses. Not a soul dared to step in their way; not a soul would save you from their taunts and humiliation. You knew what was coming. You grabbed your friend’s arm to leave, but she was frozen. Even when Saori and her friends were right in front of you two, your best friend stared right past them. You cursed and tried to hide your anxiety in the solo cup. Pretending that the booze could save your sanity and dignity, or at least give you enough self control not to start a fight.
Even before coming close, Saori and Co began throwing insults. Taunts, jabs that you were too slow to give a smart reply to. Then suddenly, they stopped. Their faces changed from condescending to... interested ..to almost flirty. And they were all looking behind you. Another sip of your punch, and you turned towards the door.
Tall, white hair, black glasses. Just a white shirt and black pants with a cloak thrown over it. A ‘barely there’ attempt at a costume, a get-up that was effectively worse than yours. Yet no one laughed at him. No one said a word. His eyes found yours immediately, and he gave a huge, obnoxious wave. Then as the song finished he yelled;“HEY! The shoulder-checker! You ran off before I could give you my very important business card!”
You blinked. Half the dance floor turned to stare at you. The music stayed off. You ducked your head and tried to run. Your 'friend' pulled you back, her fingernails dug into your arm so hard you whined in pain. She ignored you, her expression annoyed and furious at once. “You know him?!” she hissed.
You shrugged. "Is he famous or something?"
She slapped your arm so hard you almost dropped your drink. She looked at you like you were the dumbest person on the planet. Literally. "That's Satoru," she hissed. "Satoru Gojo."
The name hit you. Old money. New money. All the damned money. And power that had nothing to do with cash. Now you understood the stares, the way he commanded attention from everyone and the suddenly sultry look in half of the student body. Hell money and power had a way to make anyone attractive. Even to you. Oh god, Saori would have a field day with this; hell, the look on her face made it clear she was going to tear you apart for this. Figuratively and literary.
“There you are!”seemingly in an instant he crossed the room. His arm slinging around your waist, his hand landed on your hip. His thumb hooked into the belt loops of your shorts, while short fingernails scraped the skin just under the denim. His blue eyes looked unamused as they drifted from your face, to Saori, and then back to you. “ Boring crowd. Let’s go.”
He was giving you an out from Saori and the staring peers. You knew there’d be a price tag to pay for his ‘help’. But that price sure as hell sounded worth paying if it meant you’d learn why old money was suddenly chasing you, and if it came with a reputation boost that would get you out of the bottom of the pecking order. You nodded, letting him steer you away and tried not to hear the whispers:
Neah must be a good fuck.
Daamnnn then pussy must be golden to hook Satoru Gojo.
Gojo didn’t stop at the door. He led you across the campus grounds, away from the restarted thumping music, until you were surrounded by the quiet dark. Finally you could breathe. And dwell in the uncomfortable feeling that you repeatedly insulted and now got saved by Satoru Gojo. Usch. You raised your hand to take another much-needed sip from the plastic cup filled with punch, but before you could, his hand shot out and plucked it from your grip.
“Nuh-uh. This swill is gonna rot your latent potential. My professional opinion. Besides you’re too young to drink” He took a long gulp.
“Hey! I’m of age!” you protested, reaching back for it.
He quickly raised the cupt high above his head. “Just ‘cause you can, doesn’t mean you should!” He sounded genuinely scandalized, like a teacher catching a kid skipping class to smoke shitty smokes.
You jumped for it. His arm around your waist tightened, steadying you as you bounced up and down. Once, twice, on the third attempt your fingers hit the bottom of the cup, almost tipping it over his head. He let you snatch it back on your next jump.
You grinned widely and bought it to your lips, raised it, and… nothing. The cup was empty. “You drank it all?!”
Gojo laughed, a sound that was bright and uncomplicated. Maybe it was adrenaline or the alcohol getting to your head but the laugh sounded flirty and maybe, just maybe, it made your chest flutter. You swore though that you weren’t attracted to him; just his power and money and the burning question: why he was stalking you.
Gojo stopped laughing and leaned down, his face inches from yours. You could smell the fruity punch on his breath.
Your breath hitched; he grinned wider. He was unfairly handsome, rich and powerful. And the bastard knew it. “Come study under me at Jujutsu Tech. University.”
His words were so blunt it took you a second to process. “I… I have a degree I’m working on,” you deadpanned.
“Forget that degree. You’re wasting your time.” His voice lost a touch of its playful edge. “I felt it when you shoved me. You’ve got real potential, and something way more fun to work with.” His fingers were moving along the waistband of your shorts. Tapping, drumming. His nails scratched a light, teasing line across your stomach before dragging back up, then down again with a featherlight, maddening rhythm. It was more intimate than anything a teacher should ever do. But he didn’t look flirtatious. He looked thrilled, like he’d found a fascinating new toy, and he couldn’t wait to see it dance. “I’ll get you a degree in something real. Something where you don’t have to pretend to be tough. You can just be tough.”
He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he could see through every layer of defense you’d built up, down to the raw, frustrated core that was angry at the world. The part of you which you hid from everyone. The offer wasn’t just flirty. It was a key to a door you didn’t even know existed. A door you didn’t know anything about, but a door you wanted.
You swallowed thickly, your eyes tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his smirk. Your gaze drifted over the expensive, simple fabric of his shirt, down to his hands. The power and casual confidence he wore like a second skin was more intoxicating than any booze you’ve had. His words though, sharp and precise, were a completely different level of seduction.
A shaky smirk touched your lips. “So, do all teachers at Jujutsu Tech hit on their students?”
He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. His smile was all mischief and something hotter. “Ahh, but you see, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a low, thrilling hum. “What happens before enrollment… it stays before enrollment. Don’t you agree?”
The kiss, when it came, was as demanding and selfish as everything else about him. It tasted more like sealing a deal with a devil, and signing a contract you hadn’t even read the terms of.
But you kissed him back. Slower, gentler, more timid than the pace he set.
It was so obvious he had already decided how this night would end. And to be fair, you weren’t really in the mood to argue with your soon-to-be teacher. First impressions were important, after all. And from the way his mouth moved against yours, you were pretty sure you’d already aced the entrance exam. Though something told you if you worked a little harder, you’d get to see more benefits to being under Gojo than anything you could ever dream of..
Author note: So this is kinda a repost and kinda not. The original version of this fic was published on my other account (now closed) as Sweetober prompt and first Gojo fic. It was rushed, much sweeter and lacked the crude, angst aspect this version has, which is closer to the type of fiction I want to write.
Is this version perfect? No, it's still visible I'm learning and struggling sharper more direct language. Especially with making it flow naturally. But I still hope you enjoyed the read.
𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 | 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑹𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 | 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 | 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔
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