✧ “You think too much.” “And you don't think enough.” “See? That's why we work. You think, I act. Between the two of us we might pass for one well-adjusted human.”
✧ “You can't fix everything with a smile and some charm, you know?” “But it works on you.” “… Well, I didn't say it never works.”
✧ “You don't need to walk me home, you know?” “Yeah, I know, but people are unpredictable and you… have a tendency to get lost in your head.” “That's a sweet way of calling me oblivious.” “If the shoe fits.”
✧ “Hold up. Where are you going?” “This guy said he knew a spot and I—“ “You decided to follow a complete stranger to an unknown location, without telling anyone, and… what, get kidnapped?” “It’s not like that, I know him from class.” “Oh, so an obnoxious stranger. Great.”
✧ “Stop acting like I’m some bumbling idiot!” “We both know you’re no idiot, but you’re out of your depth here. If I needed help with an english assignment, I’d ask you. When you need help with someone giving you trouble, you come to me. Got it?”
⋆˚࿔ SUMMARY - You're the popular girl dating the nerdy physics major and you make him explain black holes while you're bouncing on his dick in the library study room because hearing him talk about quantum mechanics makes you FERAL. He still thinks he's dreaming. she's got an intelligence kink that would make scientists blush.
⚠️ CW: established relationship, semi-public sex, library Sex, intelligence kink, sapiosexuality, dirty talk, praise kink, riding, creampie, she gets off on him being smart, virgin energy despite not being one, glasses kink, opposites attract, MDNI 18+
[COLLEGE AU • Nerd!Gojo x Popular!Reader • Established Relationship • Sapiosexual Awakening • She Gets Off On His Intelligence • Library Study Session Turns X-Rated • "Talk Nerdy To Me" • He's Explaining Quantum Physics While She's Riding Him • Soundproof Study Room Savior • Intelligence Kink Goes Crazy • Black Holes & Orgasms • She Wants Round Two With String Theory • Most Unusual Dirty Talk Ever • His Glasses Stay ON • Smart Is The New Sexy • He Still Can't Believe She Chose Him • She Can't Believe He Doesn't Know How Hot His Brain Is • 18+ MDNI]
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷
Satoru Gojo was fucked.
Not literally—though if the way you were looking at him across the study table was any indication, that might change soon—but academically, socially, existentially fucked.
Because somehow, through some cosmic joke or glitch in the matrix, he—captain of the math team, physics club president, owner of at least seven Star Wars shirts—was dating you.
You. The most popular girl on campus. Cheer captain. Student body president. The girl who wore designer everything and had a Instagram following that rivaled some actual celebrities. The girl who could have anyone—literally anyone—and had chosen him.
He still wasn't sure how it happened. You'd approached him at a party (that his roommate had dragged him to) asking for help with calculus. He'd assumed it was a joke, some cruel prank, but you'd been serious. So he'd tutored you. And then you'd kissed him. And then you'd asked him out. And now, three months later, he was still half-convinced he'd wake up and discover this was all an elaborate dream.
"Satoru, you're staring," you said, not looking up from your biology textbook. Your perfectly manicured nail—painted baby pink this week—tapped against the page.
"Sorry," he mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. They were the thick-framed ones you said made him look "hot in that Clark Kent way," which had made him nearly combust the first time you said it. "Just... thinking."
"About what?" Now you did look up, and fuck, you were so pretty it hurt. Even in "casual" clothes—which for you meant a cropped sweater and yoga pants that should be illegal—you looked like you'd stepped out of a magazine.
"Quantum entanglement," he blurted out, because he couldn't exactly say 'about how you're out of my league and I still don't understand why you're with me.'
Your eyes lit up. "Yeah? Tell me about it."
He blinked. "You... want to hear about quantum entanglement?"
"I always want to hear you talk about nerdy stuff." You closed your textbook, giving him your full attention. "It's hot."
His brain short-circuited. "Hot."
"So hot." You leaned forward on your elbows, and his eyes betrayed him by dropping to your cleavage for a split second before he forced them back up. "Come on, baby. Tell me about the quantum thing."
"Um." He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again—a nervous habit. "Okay, so quantum entanglement is when two particles become correlated in such a way that the quantum state of one particle can't be described independently of the other, even when they're separated by large distances—"
"Keep going," you encouraged, and was it his imagination or did your voice sound... breathier?
"Einstein called it 'spooky action at a distance' because he thought it violated the principle of locality, but experiments have proven that entangled particles really do affect each other instantaneously, which has implications for quantum computing and cryptography—"
You bit your lip.
"—and the interesting thing is that it doesn't allow for faster-than-light communication because the results are still random, but the correlations are perfect, which means—are you okay?"
You had shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together. "I'm great. Don't stop."
"Stop... talking about physics?"
"Don't stop talking about physics." You stood up, walking around the table. They were in one of the private study rooms in the library—soundproof, lockable, meant for group projects. Suddenly that felt very relevant. "Tell me more."
"More about quantum entanglement?" His voice came out higher than normal as you approached.
"More about anything." You were standing next to his chair now, close enough that he could smell your perfume—something expensive and floral that made his head spin. "I love listening to you talk about smart stuff."
"That's... that's weird, right? That shouldn't be attractive."
"But it is." Your hand came up to his face, fingers tracing the frame of his glasses. "You're so fucking smart, Satoru. Do you know how hot that is? How hot you are?"
"I'm really not—"
"You are." You swung your leg over his lap, straddling him in the chair, and his hands automatically went to your hips. "God, I've been sitting there for an hour trying to study biology when all I can think about is you."
"Me?" His voice cracked embarrassingly.
"You." Your hands slid into his hair—white and perpetually messy despite his best efforts. "My genius boyfriend with his sexy brain and his cute glasses."
"They're not cute, they're corrective lenses—"
You kissed him, swallowing whatever nerdy clarification he was about to make. He melted into it immediately, because no matter how many times you kissed him, it never stopped being overwhelming. You tasted like the strawberry lip gloss you always wore, and you kissed him like you were trying to devour him whole.
"Want you," you breathed against his lips. "Right now."
His brain struggled to process. "Here? In the library?"
"Door locks. Room's soundproof." Your hips rolled against his, and oh fuck, he was already getting hard. "No one will know."
"Someone could need the room—"
"Satoru." You pulled back to look at him, and your pupils were blown wide. "I need you to fuck me while you tell me about science. Can you do that for me?"
His brain completely flatlined. "You... what?"
"I want you inside me." Your hand palmed him through his jeans, and he gasped. "And I want you to keep talking about physics or math or whatever. It turns me on so much when you get all passionate about nerd stuff."
"That's—" He couldn't think straight with your hand on him. "That's definitely weird."
"I don't care." You were already unbuttoning his jeans. "Please, baby? I'll make it so good for you. Just keep being your sexy, smart self."
How was he supposed to say no to that? He couldn't. He was weak. He was a weak, weak man with a hot girlfriend who apparently had some kind of intelligence kink.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, yeah, we can—we can do that."
You smiled, bright and beautiful, before kissing him again. Your hands made quick work of his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock. He was already fully hard, and when your hand wrapped around him, he had to bite back a moan.
"Don't hold back," you murmured, stroking him slowly. "Want to hear you."
"Someone might—"
"Soundproof, remember?" You lifted up slightly, pushing your yoga pants and underwear down just enough. "Now, tell me something smart while I ride you."
You sank down on him in one smooth motion, and his head fell back with a groan. You were so wet, so tight, so perfect around him. He could never get used to this—to the feeling of being inside you, of you wanting him this much.
"Satoru," you prompted, starting to move. "Talk to me."
"About—fuck—about what?"
"Anything. Tell me about..." You rolled your hips, and his grip on your waist tightened. "Tell me about space."
"Space," he repeated dumbly.
"Come on, baby. I know you know everything about space." You were riding him slowly, torturously. "Tell me about stars or black holes or whatever gets you excited."
He tried to think through the haze of pleasure. "Um. Okay. So—so black holes are regions of spacetime where gravity is so strong that nothing, not even light, can escape from inside the event horizon—"
"Yes," you moaned, moving faster. "Keep going."
"The—the event horizon is the boundary of the black hole, and once you cross it, you'd be stretched by tidal forces in a process called spaghettification—"
"Spaghettification," you repeated, breathless. "That's such a ridiculous word. Tell me more."
"At the center is the singularity, where density becomes infinite and our current understanding of physics breaks down—" His voice broke as you clenched around him. "Fuck, baby—"
"Don't stop," you commanded. "I'm so close. Keep talking."
"There are stellar black holes formed from collapsed stars, and supermassive black holes at the centers of galaxies that can be millions or billions of times the mass of the sun—"
You were moving frantically now, chasing your pleasure, and he was trying so hard to keep talking but it was difficult when you looked like that—head thrown back, cheeks flushed, absolutely gorgeous falling apart on his cock.
"The nearest black hole to Earth is about 1,000 light-years away in the constellation—oh god—in the constellation Telescopium, and we can detect black holes by observing their effects on nearby matter—"
"Satoru," you gasped. "I'm gonna—"
"The accretion disk around a black hole can reach temperatures of millions of degrees and emits X-rays that we can—"
You came with a cry that probably wasn't as muffled as it should be, clenching around him so hard he saw stars. He kept babbling about Hawking radiation and gravitational waves as you rode out your orgasm, because apparently that's what did it for you, and who was he to judge?
"Your turn," you panted, still moving. "Come for me, baby. Tell me something really smart and come inside me."
"The—the information paradox suggests that information that falls into a black hole might not be destroyed but could be preserved in the Hawking radiation, which resolves the apparent contradiction with quantum mechanics and—fuck, I'm—"
He came hard, burying himself deep as pleasure whited out his vision. He probably said something about entropy or quantum field theory, but honestly, he blacked out a little.
When he came back to himself, you were playing with his hair, smiling down at him with that satisfied look that made his heart do stupid things.
"You're so fucking hot," you murmured, kissing him softly.
"I just rambled about black holes while having sex. That's not hot. That's... I don't even know what that is."
"It's hot to me." You kissed his nose, then his cheek, then his lips again. "My smart, sexy boyfriend."
"You're weird," he said, but there was no heat in it.
"You love it."
He did. He really, really did. "We should probably get back to studying."
"Mm, probably." But you didn't move from his lap. "Or..."
"Or?"
"You could tell me about that thing you were reading about last week. The string theory thing."
He stared at you. "You want to go again?"
"I want you to tell me about string theory." Your hips rolled experimentally, and he was alarmed to discover he was already getting hard again. "And then yeah, we're definitely going again."
"You're insatiable."
"Only for you, baby." You grinned. "So? String theory?"
Satoru pushed his glasses up—they'd gotten slightly crooked—and resigned himself to his fate. "Okay, so string theory proposes that the fundamental constituents of the universe are one-dimensional strings rather than point-like particles..."
Your eyes lit up, and he knew he was in for a long study session.
[18+] satoru gojo┊ teachers!au OF LOVE & LESSON (PLANS) ⭑ ch1. for jane austen
PAIRING. ── teachers au, physics!gojo x english!reader
⭑ ─ everyone thinks you must be in love with gojo. you would rather set the whole school on fire then prove them right.
SERIES SYNOPSIS. ⭑ you’ve spent years teaching english at jujutsu high across the hall from your most unbearable coworker—physics teacher satoru gojo—enduring his smug grins, loud lectures, and endless interruptions. but after a messy breakup with your high school sweetheart, the school rumor mill decides you and gojo must be secretly dating—because apparently all that yelling and eye-rolling counts as foreplay. suddenly, you’re stuck chaperoning events together, dodging nosy students and staff, and dealing with an ex who can’t mind his own business. but the worst part? gojo thinks it’s all hilarious, as you try not to get caught up in his own chaos…or your own feelings. the real question is: how long can you insist you hate him before everyone (and maybe even you) realizes you don’t?
TAGS. 18+, fem reader, modern au, nerd!gojo, the cast of jjk as teachers and students at a normal high school, workplace romance, rom com, sit com, opposites attract, slow burn, enemies to lovers, (kind of), workplace shenanigans, slice of life, lotsss of banter, friendships, fluff, humor, slight angst, jealousy, mutual pining, ex bf! naoya, scenes of smoking cigarettes & drinking, nsfw, eventual smut
STATUS. 1/(11?)
WORD COUNT. 7.7k
NAV. ☆ ao3. playlist. masterlist.
header art twt/@su2kuna. divider by @cafekitsune
⋆˚꩜ mae's note: hi lovelies, welcome to the first chapter <3 thank you so much for all the unexpected love on the announcement post you guys are the sweetest, and it was so exciting to see all the support! i'll see you at the end xx
Sometimes you’re convinced having your classroom across the hall from Satoru Gojo isn’t coincidence at all but some cruel Austenian plot device, the kind even Jane herself would’ve cut for being too implausible—because surely no heroine could keep their sense and sensibility being near him.
The projector whirs like it’s considering bursting into flames, casting flickering light across your classroom. The fourth-years in your English lit. class sit tiredly on their chairs, their bodies slouched in varying degrees depending on their stage of senioritis. Half of them are waiting to be entertained, the other half are already half-checked out.
“Alright,” you say, remote in hand, “Remember the excerpt we just read, and keep in mind that we’re analyzing narrative perspectives and unreliable perceptions. I’m going to show you a clip from the movie, just so you guys can visualize what you just read. Pay attention to what’s said, but more importantly, how it’s said. How does Darcy see himself in this situation versus how Elizabeth perceives him? How does the author, or in this case, the filmmaker, favor one perspective over the other?”
There are a few dutiful nods, and a few blank stares. Someone in the back whispers something about SparkNotes, and you decide to ignore it.
You cue the clip. On the screen, a still-frame. You’re about to show your students Elizabeth Bennet, standing in a rain-soaked gazebo, and glowering as Mr. Darcy stumbles through a confession of love that sounds suspiciously like an insult.
“This,” you add before pressing play, “Is one of the most famous proposal scenes in English literature. Oh, and also keep in mind this is a highly dramatisized version from the actual novel but I just love this scene. So, I’m forcing you all to watch it. And make sure to jot down notes for the questions on the side.”
The room quiets, and you shut off the fluorescent lights, leaving only the warmth of your fairy lights on — the coziness only furthering the exhaustion of your students, you think. But then the orchestra starts in a chaotic frenzy jolting a couple kids awake, before dying down as the sound of rain hisses from the projector speakers. Darcy starts listing the reasons why Elizabeth is unsuitable for him before proclaiming he can’t stop loving her anyway. Elizabeth’s fury is sharp, cutting. Keira Knightley is an angel.
You’re watching your students more than the film, as you take a seat at your desk and grab your sugary coffee for another sip. A few try not to smile at Elizabeth’s sharp tongue. A couple girls try not to smile at Matthew McFadden and his very pretty blue eyes.
It’s as thunder claps over these star-crossed lovers, that the door slams open.
You feel heads turn, but you’ve developed a sixth sense to know who’s at the door without even moving.
And in strides Satoru Gojo, physics teacher across the hall, nightmare of the faculty lounge, and apparently incapable of reading a clock. His white hair is unpleasantly tousled, and as you make eye contact you notice how his half-rimmed black glasses gleam under the fairy lights.
You look up at him, and scrunch your face with emphasis to your exasperation. “Really?”
“Relax,” he says cheerfully, “Just need to borrow your stapler.”
“In the middle of my class? How many times have I talked to you about this–”
“Oh..” He looks up, as if for the first time acknowledging that he’d burst into the middle of your very important—not at all self-indulgent—lesson about Pride & Prejudice. He waves back at a couple students, and obnoxiously smiles. “The lights were off and I thought you had a prep period too. And my stapler jammed. I can’t help it!” He doesn’t even lower his voice.
The students glance between you and him, their attention fully wrenched from the rain-soaked misery of Darcy and Elizabeth. Someone snickers, and your head whips around too fast.
You look back at Gojo, who’s now rummaging over your desk. Inconsiderately blocking part of the projector with his tall frame and big head. You slap his wrist, and he looks down at you, a little amused.
You hiss through your teeth, pointing at the projector. “Can you not?”
Gojo cups a hand to his ear dramatically, and leans closer towards you, as if trying to hear what you had just said, but then you watch his jaw drop as Elizabeth says that Darcy’s the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
“Wow. What did he do?” Which gets a couple laughs from the students, to your dismay.
He stands, moving aside from the projector and instead going behind your desk now, looking through the drawers like they’re his. You glare at him, and the coffee in your hand suddenly starts feeling like a projectile you could be using.
“If you’re going to interrupt, at least be quiet.” You stage-whisper.
“Me? Loud? Never.” He presses a finger to his lips like a cartoon spy, in an exaggerated shhh sound.
“The stapler is in the small drawer on the left. Leave my classroom.” As he moves a bit closer, opening the only drawer he forgot to check, your eyes pan up to his navy blue shirt, which reads in heinous lettering: Without friction, we’d all slip into despair. It’s a new one, and you have to wonder how many t-shirts with physics puns on them this grown ass man owns.
“Nice shirt.” You sarcastically quip. He pauses for a moment, holding your pretty pink stapler in hand.
“Aw. You like it?” He looks down at you in your chair, and pinches the front of his shirt with his free hand, as if to give you a better look at it. You want to smack that grin off his face.
“Hard not to when it’s screaming, I have no social life! in Comic Sans.”
He frowns, stage whispering back at you. “You’re kidding. This shirt’s a conversation starter. It’s so deep and poetic. Far from anything you could comprehend”
“Sure,” you deadpan, “Specifically, it starts the conversation: ‘God, what a loser.’”
“Me? A loser?” He whispers and cups a hand over his mouth this time, saying something now only you should hear. “Didn’t you turn down going to the club with Shoko last weekend so you could rewatch ‘The Great British Bake Off’?” You think that you can feel your face flushing.
“Wha—Why would Shoko tell you that?!” you sputter, a little louder than intended. Shoko Ieiri, what a traitor. A couple students near the front titter, and Gojo tips his head, smug.
You shoot the front row a sharp look. “Don’t encourage him.”
Onscreen, Darcy’s voice cracks with tension: “Forgive me, for taking up so much of your time.” But no one’s watching. They’re watching the way you’re squared off against Gojo like you’ve been through this routine a hundred times before.
You try to will your students’ attention back to the projector, but the air is buzzing with suppressed laughter, and the clip ends. Elizabeth is storming away from Darcy. Silence.
All eyes are on Gojo, as he starts walking towards the door.
One of the students mutters, just loud enough to hear, “Kinda feels like Elizabeth and Darcy right now.” You look around to see who said it, and of course it’s Hakari in the back row, slouched and practically half asleep. Always instigating.
Gojo perks up instantly. “Wait, which one am I?”
“You’re Mr. Collins.” you snap.
Gasps and laughter ripple through the class.
“Ouch,” Gojo says, clutching his chest theatrically. “Marriage proposal still stands, though.”
You can feel your blood pressure climbing as the students shout their ooo’s and ahh’s. “You got the stapler. Now, Get. Out.”
He grins, holding it up like it’s a trophy. He’s almost out the door now, his head is just peeking in like he wants to do one last thing to piss you off. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Right, right.” He pushes his glasses up, and his voice sing-songs sweetly. “See you at dinner, honey.”
And then he’s gone, out the door and across the hall to his classroom—and the entire class loses it. You want to sink through the floor.
“Alright,” you flick the lights back on, and try to act like you’re not planning to take that stapler back and whack him over the head with it once the bell rings. “Settle down. I don’t know what Mr. Gojo’s problem is but I want you all to act like that never happened. For my own peace of mind.”
They’re still giggling and you can hear the trail of whispers through the classroom. But still, it’s the image of Gojo’s grin that’s burning hot at the edge of your patience.
Your classroom feels strangely hollow after the bell, like the laughter of your students still clings to the walls even though they’ve all scattered for break. The projector is cooling down with a low hiss, the fairy lights glow faintly on the walls against bookshelves, student projects, and all the Etsy posters you bought for decor, and the only sound is the steady hum of the AC above to cool the late August heat outside.
You sit at your desk, stirring a plastic cup of iced coffee that tastes like melted ice cream and regret. Sickly sweet, just how you like it, though this morning you feel like you made it a little too sugary. You’ll survive, though.
The door creaks open and Utahime steps inside, a familiar relief with her cardigan draped neatly over her shoulder, her keys and staff lanyard swinging around her neck, and her ever-practical cherry red heels clicking against the linoleum. Without hesitation, she sinks into a student desk in the front row, sighing as her knees bump awkwardly against the underside. She lets her heels dangle a little, like she’s trying on a role that doesn’t quite fit.
“Don’t you have your own office?” You ask.
“Mm.” She tilts her head back, studying you from across the room. “Don’t you have better coffee?”
You look down at your coffee, now a bisque-shade from how much creamer you put in it this morning. Unpleasant to the untrained eye. But you snort, and take a sip anyway.
“That’s going to kill you before the students do.”
“It’s called self-preservation.” You swirl the coffee like it’ll magically taste better if you move the sugar around.
Utahime props her chin in her hand. “How’d you sleep?”
The truth is that you stayed up half the night rereading old messages from Naoya until your chest felt too tight to breathe. You could never tell Utahime this, though. First off, she was the one who you had cried to then rewatched the third season of Sex & The City with that weekend he’d broken up with you. Second off, she would use her guru-esque quality, not just as a school counselor, but as one of your best friends, to advise you against your self sabotaging habit of only looking at the good parts in your less than adequate, decade long relationship.
You force a casual shrug and don’t meet her eyes. “Fine. Finished a reread of Gatsby before we start our unit.”
“Mm-hm.” Utahime’s tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy it, but she lets it slide—for now.
Instead, she gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “So. How many times did Gojo barge in this week? I’m still betting under forty for the whole year. Suguru said over. So, no pressure, but just to let you know I have twenty dollars on the line right now.”
You groan and drop your forehead onto your folded arms on the desk. After the bell rang, you had quickly stomped over to his classroom to retrieve the stapler he’d stolen from you, but the idiot had already left and put a bright blue post-it note on his door that read: “BRB. I have the stapler on me. You know where to find me, Ms. L/N ~ ;)” You had ripped it off and threw it away—and hoped no one else noticed the perpetual steam coming out of your ears.
“Every day. Every single day this week. It’s like living across from an albino raccoon who figured out how doors work.”
Utahime chuckles, but her expression softens. “You’ve gotta stop falling for his bad ragebait.”
You peek up at her through your arms. “I can’t stop him from getting under my skin. It’s like his only hobby.”
“Then ignore him.”
“I’m trying. But then he does that thing where he inhales and then exhales—”
“—You mean breathing?”
“Exactly.”
Utahime shakes her head, amused, but the laughter fades as her eyes search yours. “You sure you’re okay?”
You straighten, wrapping your hands around the icy condensation of your coffee cup so your hands feel numb. “Sure. Never better.”
“You don’t have to joke about everything.”
“I’m not joking.” You smile anyway, the kind that feels plastered on. “I’m deflecting. It’s different.”
She doesn’t say Naoya’s name, but you hear it anyway, tucked inside the silence between you. It’s been about two months and eleven days since you had called it quits on who you thought—at some point or the other—would be the man you would spend the rest of your life with. Your high school sweetheart, the man who had seen you from junior-year prom to your masters thesis. Who you had moved in with at 19, then kicked you out at 27. It was mostly mutual, an unremarkable, inevitable split. The last couple years had felt like the end of a novel, dragging out the last few pages long after the story should’ve concluded. There wasn’t a week where you didn’t argue, scream at each other, or even talk at all. Ten years in, and you felt like it had been about six since the last time you could say without hesitation that you loved him unconditionally. The scary part is you don’t know if he ever loved you that way at all.
Doesn’t mean leaving didn’t hurt, though.
Utahime shakes you out of your thoughts, as she leans back in her chair, letting her heels swing lazily. “So…still dreaming about your good-for-nothing ex, or have you moved on to…physics teachers?”
You nearly choke on your coffee. “Excuse me?!?”
“You know, the students are already starting to speculate ever since you took down those photos of you and Naoya from your bulletin board,” You take a glance to your left, where you had a cute bulletin board you had crafted of scraps and pictures and stickers and sentimental items. It was half empty now…since most of your pictures were of you and your ex. You didn’t really think anyone would notice, but now that you’re looking at it, the emptiness is screaming at you. Yikes. “I’ve caught a few of them whispering whenever you two appear in the same hallway.”
“What? Speculate — speculate about what?!”
“About you two.” She smirks knowingly. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. Your reputation precedes you.”
Your eyes narrow. “Reputation? You mean being a grown woman who actively wants to whack an unfunny physics teacher? Did they finally catch me planning first-degree murder?”
“Kind of,” she says, concealing her amusement. “Except…it doesn’t really sound like murder to the average high schooler. To them, it just looks… interesting. For lack of a better word.”
You groan and press your forehead into your palm. “I can’t. I just can’t. It’s literally my life goal not to give him any fuel, and now—”
“Now they’ve invented a fantasy version of you two,” Utahime finishes for you, tilting her head. “Honestly, it’s kind of impressive. You’ve got some competitive energy going on. Maybe one could even call it sexual tension if I had to give it a word—” You make a gagging noise, profusely shaking your head, and Utahime laughs at you.
“And I mean all of that for a guy who has Digimon collectibles all over his room. And a weirdly large collection of physics shirts.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “It’s a curse. I walk into the building and somehow my first thought is, ‘Which new physics pun is he wearing today?”
“And the second thought is?”
“Oh. That I should hide my stapler.”
Utahime raises an eyebrow. “Ah. That explains the blue post-it note.” She winks. “Classic Gojo.”
You groan, dramatically dragging a hand through your hair. You had really hoped no one else had seen that. “I don’t even know why he bothers me so much. I feel like he’s gotten worse this year, and we’re not even a full week in yet. Last year, I tried to use his tricks against him and randomly burst into his class to distract his students, but he didn’t even care. He just found it funny so I gave up that tactic because seeing him all golly made me annoyed.”
Utahime’s not looking at you anymore, picking at the fuzzy pills on her cardigan with her nails. “You know, sometimes the people who get under your skin the most aren’t the ones worth your attention, but they’re the ones who teach you the most about yourself.”
You snort softly, half disbelief, half in agreement. “That’s a nice way to say, ‘You’re weak for letting him annoy you this much.’”
“Maybe.” She smirks, playful again, and still not looking up at you. “But be careful around those students. They’re vicious.”
You clear your throat, “Seriously, though, Gojo? He’s like a fungus. The more you try to scrape him off, the more he grows back.”
Utahime smiles at you. “Then maybe you should stop feeding him your attention.”
You sip your coffee, saccharine and stinging. But deep down, you can’t shake the question: if he’s really not worth it, then why does he get under your skin so much?
The gym at Jujutsu High smells like freshly polished floors, popcorn, and a faint trace of febreeze. At least it didn’t smell like BO anymore. Or, at least not yet. Sunlight streams in through the high windows, cutting across the chaos below. The bleachers are completely full, and the gym is buzzing. Students are running everywhere—teams being called, banners being hung, foam fingers waving like flags.
It’s a Friday at lunch, and it's the end of your first week back. You’d almost forgotten that you had volunteered to supervise the Welcome Back Rally, until Utahime–who was also volunteering, against her will—had dragged you out of your classroom and placed a clipboard and whistle in your hand.
You’d imagined a relatively easy job, like patrolling the bleachers, maybe confiscating contraband snacks from first-years, or clapping politely at the cheer routine. What you hadn’t imagined was being paired with Gojo, because apparently the faculty roster is written by someone with a personal vendetta against you.
“Ah, my partner in crime.” He greets, sliding up to you with a grin wide enough to make you want to pull his teeth out. “And here you were, thinking you could make it through one school event without me.”
You eye him flatly. “I was actually hoping that exact thing, yeah.”
Your assignment, according to Mr. Takaba, the school’s activities director and his curt clipboard instructions, is to, “monitor the relay game.” Which translates into standing near a mess of cones and hula hoops while unobservant teenagers attempt organized chaos. Predictably, the chaos wins. A basketball goes rogue, someone trips over a hula hoop, and now some freshman’s already bleeding from the nose. You cover your gasp with your hand, and Gojo makes a surprised face. The crowd goes, oooh..and not in a good way.
“Oh. Um. This is fine.” Gojo says, as you both watch a senior haul away the freshman, who’s holding a hand over his bleeding nose. Shoko could take care of that.
The two of you are the only ones monitoring the home-side bleachers, so you and Gojo are unusually silent for a bit, watching the rally play out. Occasionally blowing your whistle here and there if you notice someone being unfair, but you’re mostly zoned out.
“Where were you this summer?” Gojo says suddenly, leaning against the railing, “I feel like I heard nothing from you.”
You glance at him, clipboard in hand. The dynamic between you and Gojo has always been…perplexing. Some of your closest friends at work, like Shoko Ieiri, the school’s head nurse, and Suguru Geto, the world history teacher and co-advisor of the school newspaper with you—have all been some of Gojo’s closest friends since university. You just can’t pinpoint where you and Gojo’s little back and forth started—it feels like there’s been a great number of reasons and incidents and coincidences that have built up over the years, ranging from things with Naoya that never sat right, to stupid things like using up the last life of ink on their shared printer—but ever since you’ve been teaching at Jujutsu High, so has Gojo. And by some cruel architectural twist of fate, he’s also always been just across the hall.
You glance at him, clipboard in hand. “I just live a life of mystery, apparently.” You’d spent the whole summer sulking after your break-up.
He smirks. “Mm-hm. Right. Or you were avoiding me.”
“Please,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’re everywhere anyway. I get my fill of Gojo for the entire school year. I need summer to recharge in peace.”
“Touché,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “But seriously…did you ever catch up with Shoko while I was off being brilliant and terrifying somewhere.”
You frown, thinking. “Yeah. We hung out a couple of times. Mostly called, though. She lives so far from here.”
He nods, and you glance at him, eyebrows raised. “And you? Did you actually do anything useful, or just flirt your way through your summer like usual?”
“Excuse me,” He feigns offense, tilting his head. “Flirtation is just a bonus. I was busy all summer with coaching baseball camp, and doing research at the university with this NASA-backed team there for Quantum Propulsions. I saw a real rocketship they’re building. You wanna see?”
He side steps a little closer to you, pulling out his phone and scrolling over to his photos app to show you a selfie of him with his face in the corner of the frame, pointing up at a rocketship with a big smile on his face.
“You like it? I put it in my class introduction slides this week.”
“Mm. It’s not your worst picture.”
“I guess I’ll take it.” He says, turning off his phone and stuffing it back into the pocket of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t move back to his original spot, but he crosses his arms and watches the game for a bit, playing with the whistle between his fingers.
“Oh. You know I saw Naoya at a family thing last week? He kept glaring at me, but he looked like shit. Did he tell you abou–” He started trailing off, but your head had only registered, he looked like shit. You decided to take it as a small win.
“Don’t.” You grumble under your breath.
He leans closer, voice dropping just enough to carry over the crowd noise. “Oh, come on. I feel like the guys never liked me. Said I was too…flirty? Imagine that—me, flirty? The horror.”
“You know, he thinks that you’re off-putting.” You say, smirking despite yourself.
“I’m ignoring that. But, anyway. He came up to me at the family thing, because it was some Gojo-Corp slash Zenin-Corp schmuck fest I didn’t ask to be a part of, and he just kept glowering at me. Like, hello? Did I do something to you?”
You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “I swear you remember every single time someone’s ever wronged you, even minor stuff.”
“I don’t forget, I catalogue,” he says, mock-proud. “It’s a skill. Besides, it keeps things interesting. You’d be bored if I didn’t stir the pot a little.”
You glance at him, you find it slightly endearing, despite yourself. “I’m…not bored. Just constantly exasperated.”
“Exactly,” he grins, as if he had successfully proved a point. “We’re the perfect team. You, glaring. Me, grinning. Classic combo.”
You roll your eyes again. “I’m not sure ‘classic combo’ is the phrase I’d use for disaster waiting to happen.”
“Semantics,” he says lightly, leaning back a little with arms crossed. “Anyway, I missed this—seeing you overanalyze everything and still manage to look ridiculous while doing it. Kinda like a sport in itself.”
You huff, a little embarrassed but trying to hide it behind your clipboard.
The gym breaks into claps and whistles as the voice of athletics director, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, announces over the speaker that the next relay round is about to start. You’re crouched down, trying to untangle two jump ropes that some geniuses thought would be funny to knot together, when you feel it — something flicks against the back of your ear.
You whirl around.
Gojo is standing there, twirling his whistle on a lanyard around his finger, infuriatingly casual as he looks down at you. “What?”
“You just flicked me.”
“Excuse me?” His voice dips into fake innocence, his grin widening when he sees your glare. He does it again.
“Stop that!” You hiss, and you’re back on your feet, glaring at him while he keeps twirling it between his fingers.
He leans down just enough to make his voice carry over the roar of the bleachers. “I’m just keeping you on your toes.”
You pause, and give him the most apathetic look you could muster.
“Get it…cause you were just crouching. On your toes…No?”
“You’re insufferable.” You yank the whistle from his hand and stuff it into your pocket, like you’ve confiscated candy from a baby.
Gojo just shrugs, then cups his hands around his mouth and looks at you, while simultaneously yelling towards the chaos of students, “Hey! Don’t steal school property, only teachers get to do that!” Before he places a hand to emphasize the gap between your height and his, making a show of how much taller he is than you. A few kids laugh, and you want the ground to swallow you whole.
“You are not funny.” You half cross your arms, with your clipboard still in hand.
“Not funny? Please. I’m the highlight of this rally.” He lifts his arms like he’s presenting himself to the crowd, and it gives you a full view of his newest outfit, written in block letters on a white shirt, accompanied with the graphic of a rollercoaster cart going up a drop: I have potential.
You hide your slight smile with a scowl. “Highlight? More like an eyesore. You lost your potential when you came in wearing a shirt like that.”
He clutches his chest. Offended. “My shirt is a beacon of scientific truth.”
“It’s a beacon of why you don’t have a girlfriend.” You scoff. He pauses, and you think you’ve gone too far… but then he laughs at you, and the sound of it weirdly makes you lighten up.
“Hey, if you called me insufferable, but dated that one awful guy for—what was it—ten years?” He smirks at the way your jaw tenses. “Then that means there’s hope for me.”
You freeze, blinking at him. You wish you could have seen the look on your face at this moment. “Wait—did you say dated? As in past tense, used to date.”
He freezes too, smirk faltering. Absolutely caught. “Uh… I might’ve… overheard. Or someone mentioned it.” You looked at him, completely unimpressed. There’s only one other person who you ran to almost immediately after it was over. Who you called even before the snot had stopped running down your nose. And there was also only one person who was friends with both you and Gojo, who also had a big mouth. “Okay, fine—Shoko told me. But it’s not like I was being weird about it, I swear.”
Shoko Ieiri, that absolute traitor.
You glare. “You asked Shoko about my breakup?”
He scratches his neck, sheepish. “Yeah…? Maybe that was overstepping. I just saw you guys unfollowed each other on Instagram, so I asked.”
You laugh, a little bitter, and shake your head at the sheer audacity of this guy. “Maybe you were overstepping??”
He shrugs, but his eyes flick over you like he’s checking if he can cross a line again. He’s so shameless you have to stop yourself from blowing the whistle in his ear. “I’m just saying—if a dumb t-shirt makes you cringe, but a guy wasting ten years of your life didn’t? Kinda feels like your priorities are flipped.”
You actually can’t believe he just said that. The laugh you let out is sharp and bitter, surprising even yourself. “You would know all about bad priorities, wouldn’t you?”
That shuts him up for a beat. Long enough that the sound of cheering and sneakers squeaking on the gym floor go on for longer than either of you are comfortable with. Then he smiles again, brighter, faker this time. “Tch. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were projecting.”
You snap your head toward him. “Projecting what, exactly?”
“Mm.” He pretends to think, tapping his chin with one long finger. “Frustration. Deep-seated bitterness. Maybe some unresolved romantic trauma?”
Your mouth gapes open. “Excuse me?”
When you look back up at him, you see his head tilt up towards the bleachers, where a gaggle of juniors are very obviously whispering behind their hands, half-giggling, half-staring at the two of you like you’re they’re favorite celebrities. He nods his head at them, and you smile at them, and they burst out giggling before the two of you turn back around. What Utahime said to you yesterday rings in your head suddenly. You know the students are starting to speculate about you two…to them, it looks—interesting.
You shake your head, and he looks back at you, leaning in a little as the crowd roars again. “I mean, hey,” He says with an exaggerated shrug. “You don’t have to take it out on me just because someone dumped you.”
“I didn’t get dumped,” You hiss, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It was mutual.”
He gasps, scandalized. “Mutual? Oh no. That’s just what people say when they definitely get dumped.”
You shove his hand away as he reaches over like he’s about to pat your head. “Just stop talking.”
“Can’t. Won’t.” He beams. “Making you mad is way more entertaining than the relay race.”
“Gojo, I swear—”
“What? You’ll report me to Yaga? Please. He loves me.”
You’d thought about it. Had done your research to see if Gojo making you irritated and contemplate violence every time you see him border on the grounds of workplace harassment. But then you think about the things you’ve done to get him back over the years. Implied he got too excited over Digimon to his class of seniors, (if you know what I mean) which he laughed at. Broke some of his lab equipment after yelling at each other, which got slightly on his nerves. (And you felt bad, so you paid for most of it.) Swapped his whiteboard markers with ones that were dried out, to which he swapped yours with permanent markers. (The janitor had complained about it to Yaga.) Hid his chair in your room and replaced it with a kindergarten-sized one from the art room for a couple days. Hijacked his Spotify playlist to blast Dance Monkey in the middle of his lecture. To which he figured out your Spotify login and added I Am A Gummy Bear to all of your playlists. Those were some highlights among other things over the past four years.
And you know that Principal Yaga would only bring up all these other incidents if you were to complain about Gojo. Ugh.
“Yaga barely tolerates you.”
“Jealous?”
“Of what. Your complete lack of shame?”
“Of my charisma.” He winks. You gag.
“Gojo, if you say one more word, I’m shoving my whistle so far down your throat you’ll be calling plays from your stomach.”
He leans down until he’s eye-level, smile sharp. “Kinky.”
You feel your face flush again, and you spin around to see if anyone else had heard that. Thankfully, everyone seemed too focused on the kids about to hop over the finish-line of the three-legged race.
“You’re unbelievable.” You mutter, storming off towards the cones as the crowd erupts in cheers at the end of the race, commemorating the end of the rally and the start of the final cheer routine, which was highlighted in bright yellow on your clipboard. Behind you now, Gojo’s laughter booms over the crowd, louder than the pep rally itself.
Before he can retort, a cheerleader comes sprinting too close to the sidelines. She collides with one of the relay cones, sending it skidding straight toward you. You stumble back, about to lose your balance—until you feel a strong arm shoot out, catching you around the waist to steady you back on your feet.
And of course, because the universe hates you, Satoru Gojo doesn’t let go immediately. His hand is firm against your side, his face dipping closer than it has any right to be, his breath brushing your ear when he murmurs, “Careful there, wouldn’t want you to sue the school for hazardous cone placement.”
Your pulse spikes, embarrassment and heat searing through your face like you’d just played the entire relay yourself. The squeak of sneakers slows, replaced by a ripple of whispers and a sharp, collective gasp from the bleachers. The sound alone makes your stomach drop. You know people saw. Too many people.
You jerk out of his hold, spin around toward him with your clipboard clutched tight against your chest like a shield. “You’re unbelievable.” You hiss again, but this time it comes out thinner, because you can still feel the ghost of his hand against your waist.
Gojo leans back, his ears a little red, but his expression is unbothered, with that blinding grin spreading across his face like he’s covering another laugh. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head as if he didn’t practically manhandle you in front of half the school. “I saved your life. You should really be thanking me.”
“You could’ve tripped me harder than the cone did.” You try to snap, but your voice wobbles, and judging by the smug sparkle in his eyes, he heard it.
“Huh. You’re right. Next time I’ll really commit.” He sing-songs, walking away to pick up the cone, and you feel your eye twitch. You step back as the cheer squad rallies into formation, and you can still swear you hear his soft chuckling over the buzz of the crowd. The sound of it echoes in your ears long after the marching band drowns it out.
You’re half-paying attention to the students as they file out of the gym, congratulating teams and waving banners, but the whispers follow you like a persistent shadow. Every time someone giggles behind their hand or nudges a friend, your stomach twists. You’re convinced it’s because pep rallies are dumb, and not because of anything—or anyone—in specific.
You teach English to seniors in the morning, and sophomores after lunch. You go about your last two English 2 Honors classes of the day trying to ignore the lingering heat in your cheeks. You pass out all the worksheets you had printed the day before, teaching the slides to round out your lesson on Literary Devices like you always do in the beginning of the year. You don’t forget to remind your class about their timed summer reading essays next Friday, which gives way to a unanimous groan.
You would’ve forgotten the way Gojo had held you at that pep rally, if only not for every time you glance up, you’d notice the subtle smirks and sidelong glances your students exchange. A few kids even whisper to each other while stealing glances at you, and it sets your nerves on edge. You shift your weight on your tennis shoes, hoping it’s all in your head. Surely, it’s just the lingering excitement from the rally.
By the time the final bell rings, you’re practically sprinting out the classroom, trying to look casual while stuffing papers into your bag. The hallways are still buzzing with students, some waving at friends from other classes, others chattering in small groups. And yet—and maybe you’re just a little paranoid—you notice the occasional pause as someone spots you and then whispers to the next person.
You’re crossing the main hallway near the teacher’s lounge, when you hear a small gasp from the far end of the corridor, followed by muffled laughter. Your stomach lurches. Kids are really scary sometimes. But you have to ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.
Still, the whispers and stifled giggles continue, subtly threading through the hallways as you make your way to the lounge. You’ve barely just closed the door, when it swings open behind you, and Utahime steps in, phone held out in front of her face.
“Explain THIS.”
You’re startled at first, but you follow her gaze, and your heart feels like it fell down to your ass. There it is—the photo. It’s a Snapchat photo, taken in low, zoomed in quality, with a black bar of text below that writes: “English X Physics OTP??????” The background is blurred, the gym chaos still visible, but the focus is zoomed in on the two of you. Gojo, leaning in close, one hand braced around your waist, your face flushed and wide-eyed like something out of a rom-com poster. And it all looks way too intimate than it really was.
“Oh. My. God.” You slump into one of the worn chairs in the lounge. Utahime follows, taking her phone back and staring at it with an infuriatingly gleeful grin plastered across her face.
“Oh, come on,” Utahime says, nudging you with her elbow. “It’s hilarious. Look at this!” She holds up the phone again, and you reflexively shield your face. “The posture! The panic! You’re basically a rom-com lead who just realized the camera’s on.”
“I am not a rom-com lead,” You whisper defensively. Your hands are covering your face out of complete embarrassment. “How many people has this gotten around to?? That looks—that looks criminal out of context—”
Utahime snorts. “Relax. It’s fine. It’s…well, it’s definitely not fine, because everyone’s seen it by now, but at least it’s funny.” She tries to give you a supportive smile, but is clearly savoring your meltdown. “I’ve got to say, though, the way your eyes are this wide—adorable.”
“Utahime!” You squeak, flailing. “Please delete it. Hide it. Burn it. ANYTHING.”
“Too late,” She says brightly, scrolling through her phone like she’s about to share it to everybody but you. “The students have it posted all over their private stories, apparently. You’re viral, congratulations.”
Before you can sputter further, the door to the lounge swings open and Ijichi, the secretary, pokes his head in, clipboard in hand and a polite, but firm expression.
“L/N?” He says, a little shy. “Principal Yaga is asking for you in his office. Right now.”
You jolt upright, nearly tripping over the chair. “Wha–what? Why?”
Ijichi blinks, a little startled at your reaction. “I don’t have details. He said it’s urgent. If you could come with me, please.”
Utahime bursts into another round of laughter, practically doubled over now. “Ohhh, this is perfect. Go on—walk into the storm, Ms. Bennet. (She says in a mock British accent) Make me proud.”
You groan, flinging your bag over your shoulder and muttering curses under your breath as you follow Ijichi out of the lounge. You can still hear Utahime in there, barely able to contain her giggles while your stomach feels like it’s turning to mush.
As you follow Ijichi down the quiet hallway, now devoid of students, the worst possible scenarios slip through your mind. Of course this had to be about the photo—but can they fire you for that? Surely to any professional teacher, it would just look like a co-worker helping another co-worker from an imminent case of eating straight shit right? I mean, it was only to those hormonal teenagers for it to look like something else entirely, right?
And of course, of course, when you round the corner outside the principal’s office, there he is. Gojo. Sitting casually against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, scrolling with what looks like an irritatingly calm expression. He looks up, just for a second, and behind his glasses, the sparkle in those clear blue eyes tells you he knows exactly why you’re panicking.
“Yikes.” He mutters softly, seemingly more to himself than you, though you can feel it like a poke to the ribs.
Ijichi clears his throat, opening the door to Yaga’s office. “You two can come in,” He says, voice dry, eyes flicking between you and Gojo like he’s silently cataloguing the impending chaos.
Behind the door, Principal Yaga sits behind his desk, expression unreadable behind those visors he wears, even indoors. The office smells faintly of a Bath & Body Works mahogany and teakwood candle, and his chairs are weirdly far from his desk, and also weirdly shorter in comparison, making Yaga seem like a giant in front of them. “Sit,” he says, not bothering with pleasentries. Both of you comply, though Gojo makes it dramatic, leaning back and spreading his arms onto the rests.
“I’ve called you two in for a talk on professionalism.” Yaga begins, folding his hands on the desk. You feel your face cringe, and you don’t even bother looking over at Gojo. “While I don’t care what you do on your own time, I do care about what students see. I’ve seen the picture being spread. Stop giving them fuel for gossip. Stop giving them reasons to speculate about your behavior.”
You quickly nod, scared to look away, but Gojo leans toward you just enough that you can hear him whisper, with a smirk on his face. “Wow. We become that popular that fast?”
You snap your head toward him, voice sharp, but whispering, “Shut up. You’re literally the reason we’re here.”
Yaga sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Again. I don’t care what you two do outside of school, but this—” He gestures at the two of you, Gojo holding his chin with his hand, while leaning his arm on your arm rest, and you, your face unconsciously close to his as you were whispering to him just seconds ago. “—this hallway spectacle—is inappropriate. Since it’s already being spread amongst the students it could become a whole thing with the parents contacting us about professional conduct, and I just don’t want to deal with that headache. It’s happened before, and it wasn’t fun, Mr. Gojo and Ms. L/N.”
You blink, swallowing hard, trying to gather your words because you’re afraid if you open your mouth you’re going to puke from the embarrassment. “I completely understand, Yaga. Trust me, it won’t happen again. And about the picture, I promise you—”
Gojo leans even closer, completely cutting you off with an amused tone to his voice, “It’s fine, really. It was all totally staged, Yaga. See? She actually tripped on purpose just so she could land in my arms.”
You snap, glaring at him so sharply that he actually flinches slightly. “Stop. Playing. Games. This was not intentional. A rogue cone came flying at me and he just so happened to help me, even though I very clearly did not need any help. You actually made it WORSE!”
Gojo chuckles softly, eyes sparkling, locked into yours. “But it looks so much better when you act flustered. I mean, have you seen the picture? Not the best angle but I thought we looked kind of cu–”
You throw your hands up, exasperated. “Delete that photo from your phone, erase it from everyone else’s memory, and —”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down,” Gojo interrupts, voice still teasing. “You’re making it sound like you’re…obsessed with me or something. Careful, or Principal Yaga might think the same.”
Your eyes go wide, and you’re afraid they’re actually going to twitch this time. The audacity on this motherfucker. “Obsessed? With you? Are you insane??!”
Yaga groans, clearly done with both of you, and cuts in, voice sharp and final. “Do I make myself clear? Professionalism. Enough of this whispering, smirking, or any other nonsense. Our lead janitor is still angry at the two of you for your antics last year. I don’t care what you do on your own time, please. Go home. Both of you. Now.”
That seems to spook the two of you a bit, and you both look over at each other, immediately shutting up. You gather your things, give Yaga one last nod of understanding, and walk out the door, where Ijichi stands in the corner still, eyeing the two of you with a look of curiosity. You wonder how much of the conversation he’d heard.
As you walk out into the hallway, unfortunately having to walk the same direction to the staff parking lot, Gojo quickens his pace to match yours, and lets out a long, dramatic, mock sigh of disappointment, then leans toward you with a sly grin. “All I got out of that was Yaga just gave us his blessing. Officially. We’re cleared for all future shenanigans.”
You turn your head back at him incredulously. “He just said the exact opposite of that.”
“Opposite, same, potato, potathto…details, details. I prefer to think he secretly agrees with me.”
You close your eyes for a moment, listening to the way your steps sync on the linoleum floor. Imagining the takeout leftovers that are at home, waiting for you, before letting out a long, frustrated breath. “I hate you.”
“And yet,” He says, “You’ll be thinking about today all weekend.”
There’s some quick math done in your head, as Gojo blabbers onto you about his weekend plans. You calculate the amount of weeks in a year. Then you figure out how many weeks are left in a school year. 35 weeks of 36 to go. 35 more weeks of Gojo in your ear. 35 weeks more weeks until Gojo finally shuts up. 35 more weeks until you can find your sanity again.
You think this year will be so much fun.
⭑ mae's note: HII you've officially finished the first chapter!! i'm sorry if any of it got info-dumpy at one point, but i really wanted you guys to get to know these characters, and get to meet some more familiar friends along the wayyy :D constructive feedback is soo appreciated and my inbox is open for questions & comments (help and ideas for future chapters from a teacher would be sooo appreciated LMAO, i know nothing about teaching, google has been my best friend writing this so far) as for updates, i'm planning to post a new chapter bi-weekly, but there will be some changes depending on my schedule and everything going on. i'm ngl i kind of base my motivation on interactions..💔 so if you liked this at all likes+reposts+comments are my driving force </3 see u guys in the next one!!
summary: rafe's grades were slipping, to say the least. your school assigns you as his tutor, hoping maybe you could save him. one afternoon, rafe shows up to your house with in need of some help.
warning(s): dry humping, fingering, finger licking, mentions of biting (hickeys), thigh riding, marijuana use, swearing, size kink if you squint, mentions of scratching, slight overstim, rafe becomes whipped so possessiveness, innocence corruption(?), praise, slight perv!rafe, titobsessed!rafe, mentions of death threats, dni if you don't like!!!
mentions of: rafey, rafe is called a "sex symbol", y/n, sweetheart, good girl, baby, sweet girl, dumbass, needy girl, slut, doll, cute, pretty ౨ৎ
a/n: if not known already, this is basically a obx highschool au, pogues and looks still exist but it's more like jocks and nerds. both reader and rafe are seniors, not minors! I don't have much experience with writing fics but here's my current fixation, enjoy & leave notes! <3
word count: 4k, roughly proofread
divider by: @issysh3ll
y/n had been sitting quietly in her history class, the bell signaling the end of the period ringing in the distance. she was gathering her books when the overhead speaker crackled to life, interrupting the usual noise of students packing up.
"pardon this interruption, y/n l/n, please report to principal phelp’s office immediately."
the announcement hung in the air, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. she froze, a slight chill running through her. she wasn’t the type to get into trouble—her grades were impeccable, she kept to herself, and she was always on time. so why was she being called to the principal’s office? her mind raced through all the possible reasons, none of which seemed likely. had she missed an assignment? was there a mistake with her records? or was it the skirt she decided to wear today that definitely didn’t meet the dress code?
her heart pounded as she made her way down the hall, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. as she approached the principal’s office, she noticed the usual hustle and bustle of students outside. some of them exchanged glances, their curious eyes following her every step, looking her up and down with whispers and sly looks. when she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly.
"come in," came the deep voice of principal phelps.
she opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk, a manila folder in front of him. the room was neat, almost too perfect, the smell of old books and polished wood filling the air. but what really caught her off guard was the figure sitting across from him.
rafe cameron, the school's golden boy.
her stomach dropped. rafe was sitting with his arms crossed, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he looked over at her. His messy curtain bangs and athletic jacket seemed almost out of place in the sterile office, like he didn’t belong in this space. she had always known of him, of course. he was the star quarterback, the guy everyone knew by name, the one who seemed to glide effortlessly through life. and now, here he was, looking at her as if he had all the time in the world, while she, on the other hand, was caught off guard and confused.
"there she is, come on in we were just talking about you." principal phelps said with a warm smile, though she could detect a hint of urgency in his tone. "take a seat."
she sat down hesitantly, trying to avoid looking directly at rafe. the tension in the air was palpable, and she was acutely aware of how out of place she felt in this situation.
"y/n," principal phelps began, folding his hands in front of him, his expression turning serious, "I’ve called you here because I need a favor. you know rafe, right?"
you glanced at rafe again, his eyes diverted to something else in the room as if he wasn’t staring at you. he seemed unfazed by the situation, though there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes. "um, yeah," you said quietly, not sure where this conversation was going.
principal phelps nodded. "well, rafe here has been struggling in a few subjects. he’s having difficulty with math, english, and history.” principal phelps cleared his throat trying to ignore the fact that he named almost every class. “and unfortunately, his grades are slipping dangerously low. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he could lose his eligibility to play on the football team, which would jeopardize his scholarship opportunities." he paused, giving her a moment to process the gravity of the situation.
she blinked, her mind racing. rafe? struggling? the same rafe who could probably get away with doing the bare minimum and still pass every class? the same rafe with the fancy sport cars and the fancy mansion he threw ragers in? (allegedly, she’s never been to one.) the same rafe who had never so much as acknowledged her existence in all the years they’d been in school?
"I’m asking you," principal phelps continued, leaning forward slightly, "to tutor rafe for the next few weeks. he needs to pass these subjects to stay on track. and I know you’re one of our top students, y/n. you’re smart, diligent, and patient—exactly what rafe needs right now."
rafe shifted in his chair, his smirk faltering for just a moment. "yeah, sweetheart," he added with a lazy grin, "I could use your help. think you can handle it?" he glanced down at her thighs, and then back up at her. she felt her face flush at the sudden name.
her mind was spinning. she had never thought of rafe as anything more than the popular guy—someone she’d seen in the hallways but never really interacted with. actually, that was a lie, the thinking part. she actually would think about rafe alot when she was bored, specifically his toned body and the way he bit his lip when he was thinking. she had no idea how to deal with someone like him.
"I—I don’t know," she stammered, feeling her face flush. "I’m not sure I’m the right person for this."
principal phelps’s voice softened, but there was still a sense of urgency in his words. "I’m sure you are. rafe, here, is a good kid at heart, but he’s under a lot of pressure. If you help him out, it could mean a lot to him—and to his future."
rafe’s eyes met hers again, and for a split second, she thought she saw something other than cockiness—a hint of desperation, maybe even embarrassment. but it was gone before she could fully understand it.
she took a deep breath. she had never been one to shy away from responsibility, even if the situation seemed overwhelming. she didn’t want to be the one to deny him help, especially when it could affect his future.
"okay," she finally said, her voice steady but unsure. "I’ll help."
principal phelps smiled, relief flooding his face. "thank you, y/n. I know this is a lot to ask, but I think you’re exactly what rafe needs."
as she stood up to leave, she felt the weight of the task ahead of her settle in. she glanced one more time at rafe, who was still sitting there, his posture slightly more relaxed now. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension between them already starting to form, a mix of uncertainty and something unspoken.
"see you tomorrow, then," she said, her words more for herself than for him, before leaving the office to prepare for what was about to be an unexpected and challenging journey.
over the past two weeks, y/n and rafe had settled into a rhythm, though it was far from smooth at first. their tutoring sessions started awkwardly—rafe's usual cocky demeanor clashed with y/n’s quiet, no-nonsense attitude. he would slouch in his chair, often cracking jokes or making sarcastic comments, testing her patience. but y/n, determined to get him through the material, refused to let him off the hook. slowly, she found ways to get through to him, breaking down complicated equations and historical events into relatable, bite-sized pieces. rafe, surprisingly, started to respond. he still struggled, but he began showing up earlier for their sessions, staying later, and even asking questions without the usual bravado.
as the days passed, the tutoring sessions shifted from strictly academic to more personal. one evening, as they were going over a particularly difficult history assignment, rafe let slip that his father had been pushing him to be the perfect athlete, to always be "the best." "It’s not just about football," rafe admitted, his tone more vulnerable than she had ever heard. "I just don’t want to disappoint him, you know?" y/n was taken aback. she had always seen rafe as the confident jock, but here was a side of him she hadn’t expected—a young man weighed down by more than just his grades. she listened quietly, offering a rare, understanding smile that made rafe pause for a moment. after that, their sessions felt different. the walls that had once separated them began to crumble.
In the weeks that followed, their conversations drifted beyond just homework. rafe started sharing bits of his life with you—how he used to love painting when he was younger, how he struggled with anxiety before big games, and how he was terrified of failing his senior year. you, in turn, opened up as well, telling rafe about your dream of becoming a lawyer and how you often felt like an outsider at school. the two of you discovered common ground in your shared feelings of pressure, and the lines between tutor and student began to blur. with each passing session, you became more comfortable with one another, a connection forming that neither had anticipated—one built on mutual respect, trust, and the quiet bond of shared struggle.
it was a quiet evening when y/n heard the unexpected knock on her door. she glanced at the clock—there was no study session scheduled for that night, so she wasn’t expecting anyone. her parents were out, and she had been planning on catching up on some reading. she opened the door, a little confused, only to find rafe standing on her porch, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. his usual confident posture was gone, replaced with an uneasy slouch. his eyes were almost bloodshot, and he wore an unfamiliar look on his face—vulnerable, even fragile.
"rafe?" y/n asked, surprised. "what are you doing here?"
he ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a small, strained laugh. "I—I know this is weird. but I, uh... I had a fight with my dad. a big one. he’s pissed about my grades and shit again, and he’s been on my case all week." rafe hesitated, biting his lip as if trying to hold back a wave of frustration. "I... I got high. like really fucking high I know I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t handle it. and I needed to get out of there." he looked down at his shoes, his words a little rushed. "I just—" he sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d—just let me hang out for a bit. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn't wanna seem like a pussy to all of my dumbass friends."
y/n stood frozen for a moment, processing his words. she had never seen him like this. the rafe she knew was always in control, always surrounded by his friends, the football team, and the unshakable air of confidence. this version of him—lost, raw, and uncertain—was a stark contrast. her heart softened at the sight of him, and despite the oddness of the situation, she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.
"come in," she said, her voice gentle. "let’s sit down."
rafe walked in slowly, his movements sluggish, still unsure of what to say. she led him to the living room and handed him a glass of water, sitting down next to him, a soft hand placed on his back. the room was filled with the low voice of lana del ray and soft hum of the evening, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. rafe finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a look of quiet gratitude mixed with embarrassment along with something untraceable. "I didn’t mean to show up like this, but I didn’t know who else I could trust with.. this."
y/n’s heart tightened. she had no idea how much weight rafe had been carrying, how much pressure he was under from his father and the constant expectations of being perfect. In that moment, she realized how little she had truly known about him, and yet here he was—vulnerable, raw, and seeking comfort from the one person he had never expected to rely on.
"you don’t have to explain," she said softly. "I’m glad you came." she gave him a weak smile, rafe felt his heart flutter. "so.. how'd you get high? is that stupid question? sorry, you know people are bringing cocaine back into school." he chuckles, she lets out a giggle. "no cocaine here sweetheart, just this." rafe reached into his pocket and pulled out a weed pen, but y/n had never seen anything like it. it was super colorful and weirdly shaped, not like the ones she would see in the bathroom. "can I hold it?" she glanced at rafe, her doe eyes dimly lit with the faint lighting coming from the lamp in the corner. "why? you smoke? no way." he raised his eyebrow at her, but handed her the pen anyway.
"no, I don't smoke but.." she pauses, biting her lip, "I'm tempted. maybe you're just a really bad influence." he scoffed at her, "give it a try, just hold the button and pull it." y/n stared at the device in her hand uncertain. "what do you mean pull?" rafe held back his laugh, she shoots him a glare. "I'm serious." she playfully shoved him.
"yeah yeah I can see that, by pull I mean, suck on it I guess." her face heats up, cursing herself for letting such innocent words cause a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "okay, I'll try." she focused her attention of the pen and did as rafe said, she put the pen up to her lips and "sucked." rafe watched intensely as her lips wrapped around the tip of the pen, he swallows hard. trying to keep his composure, aka stop staring at your boobs in your thin strapped top or imagine your lips wrapped around his dick like that.
you slightly inhale the smoke and it immediately gets caught in your throat. you're now in a coughing frenzy, embarrassed as rafe pats your back. "atta girl, that's how you do it don't try to hold it in, let it out." y/n found herself coughing even more at the sly remarks. she stands up and walks over to the kitchen hastily grabbing an orange fanta from the fridge. she struggles to open it due to her latest french tip set, rafe notices her struggling and walks over. he opens the can with one hand with a sizzle pop! noise, she brings the drink to her lips hoping to relieve her dry mouth.
after taking a couple minutes to calm down, y/n offers rafe to come up to her room. it comes off as a surprise, rafe had never been anywhere in y/n's house except the living room and kitchen, never upstairs. but with no complaint, he follows behind her, watching the way her ass moves as she climbs up the steps. they make it to her room and it's safe to say, it was tidy. everything seemed like it had a place, and the room was lit with purple led's. but the best part of it all, was her bed. the mattress was extremely comfortable and she had an abundance of pillows as well as plushies.
"yeah this fits you, like a doll in a dollhouse." he walks around her room a bit before sitting on her bed getting comfortable.
meanwhile, y/n on the other hand was in a whole other world.
her ears were burning almost, she could hear her heartbeat and her whole body was tingling. she felt nothing short of amazing, euphoric even.
the usual walls between them had melted away, and now, as the evening dragged on, the space between them felt more intimate than it ever had before. there was movie was playing on her TV, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in it. they were both laughing at the silly dialogue and weird moments on the screen, but most of the time their eyes kept drifting back to each other.
rafe broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "you know," he said, arms wrapped around her waist as she sat on top of him, "this is the most chill I’ve felt in weeks." his eyes were a little glassy, but his smile was genuine, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. "It’s nice being away from everything… away from the pressure."
she nodded, her head slightly spinning from the effects. the room felt warmer, the air thicker, and rafe’s presence seemed to fill the space between them in a way that felt new. he shifted, his chest brushing against her back, and neither of them pulled away. It felt like a small moment of intimacy, unspoken yet undeniable.
"yeah," she replied, her voice quieter now, "it’s nice not to think about all the things we’re supposed to be worrying about."
"I wonder, do you ever worry about me? think about me at night?" his tone was teasing, but there was something more behind it, something she could feel but couldn’t quite place. It was an invitation, but also something more—like a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. "so much goes on behind those pretty eyes."
y/n felt her heart beat a little faster as she considered it. part of her wanted to stay upright on his lap, maintain the little distance they had been keeping, but something about rafe’s tone, the way his eyes held hers, made her hesitate. she wanted to trust this moment, to let it unfold without overthinking it. she melted into his touch, resting her head in the crook of his neck, thighs pressed together. "I do."
rafe shifted to make room as he breathed in the scent of vanilla, the bed soft beneath him. the air between them was electric now, charged with a tension that neither of them seemed willing to break. the movie was still playing, but neither of them were paying attention to it anymore. they were closer now, the space between them reduced to nothing and for the first time in a long time she wasn't sure of something, she wasn’t sure if she was just feeling the effects of the weed or something more.
rafe leaned back against the pillows, his arms still wrapped around her body. "we don’t have to watch the movie," he said, his voice almost too smooth, like he was testing the waters. his eyes didn’t leave hers, his gaze intent and heavy, and in that moment, the world outside her room seemed to disappear.
y/n’s breath caught in her throat as the tension between them grew. every inch of her body was acutely aware of him, the way his presence felt so overwhelming, so magnetic. she had always seen rafe as someone distant, someone who belonged to a world she could never quite fit into. but now, with the smoke being blown in her face, taken in by slightly parted lips, she felt like they were on the same level.
she opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just looked at him, her pulse racing as her mind swirled in the haze of the night.
"I wanna touch you."
rafe's breath fell heavy on her ear, sending a slight chill down her spine. her breath hitched, and there was that same flutter in her stomach. she didn't exactly have any experience in things like this but she wasn't entirely clueless, but never dealt with it hands on.
but rafe? he was a fucking sex symbol. several girls would literally leave notes in his locker with their address begging him to fuck them. but he would only rack up two bodies, or so it's said.
both of those girls transferred schools due to death threats.
but y/n doesn't understand why he would choose her.
"touch, me?" her voice was soft, but not afraid. infact, she was more relaxed than ever. "I wanna make you feel good, you're gonna be the fucking death of me. so innocent you don't even notice how you're straddling me, do you?" y/n took notice of how firmly planted on his thigh she was, no longer fully in his lap. "um, well.." rafe placed his hands on her hips, slowly guiding her back and forth. a jolt of pleasure shooting through her body, "rafey." a mewl creept from her lips, rafe was fucking aching in his sweats at this point. hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted slightly. "shit, you want me to stop? just give me the word i'll stop." he halts his movements, earning a disappointed whine.
"I don't want you to stop."
rafe curses under his breath, he slides her onto his lap and grinds his hips up into her, letting out a low groan. "you're a needy girl aren't you? so stressed and pent up. you can let go, I got you." rafe coo'd into her ear, placing soft kisses on her shoulders and moving to her neck, biting and sucking, hands rubbing all over her body, palming her boobs through her top, fingers brushing over her nipples.
rafe turns her head towards him, pressing their lips together. a mix of cherry lipgloss and orange fanta settling on his tongue. the kiss is sloppy and heated, the air in the room is thick as the movie in the background gets drowned out by moans and heavy breaths.
"such a sweet girl, you know that? all the shit you do for me? you deserve a fucking trophy." rafe showers her with praise has he goes back to kissing her neck, hands never leaving her body as she caught the rhythm on her own.
her brain was foggy with pleasure, lips parted but could't respond with anything but moans and "mhm's." rafe plays with the hem of her pajama pants, "can I?" she nods, "words, baby I need to hear you say it."
y/n, almost frustrated lets out a defeated sigh. "yes, but.." she hesitates. "can you take your shirt off?" she says quietly, as if she wasn't already in such a vulnerable state.
rafe chuckles at the sudden request, but does as she says. he pulls his black shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. y/n does the same. rafe is practically drooling at the sight of the pink lacy bra. his hands cup her breasts through the fabric, she arches her back against his chest. he slides his hand into her pants, glancing down to see that her underwear matched her bra. "so fucking cute."
he rubs her through the fabric, dampness seeping through the material. he teases her with long strides and rubs circles around her clit. he slips his hand into her underwear, almost moaning at the slick. y/n bites her swollen lip in an attempt to save her embarrassment.
"I want you to watch me."
her eyes slowly moved down to rafes hand in her pants, her face heated with embarrassment as she watched rafe's forearm and wrist flexed as he worked her clit, finger teasing her entrance. "I need you to relax, open your legs for me." rafe slowly parted her thighs with his free hand. "good fucking girl, so obedient." he kisses her cheek as he slides a digit into her sopping cunt. she inhales sharply, her head is thrown over his shoulder and her nails dig slightly into his arms.
"shit, just sucking me in. if I didn't know any better i'd think you were a slut." rafe's teasing manner never seemed to stop, he was two fingers, knuckle deep, in his supposed to be tutor. the only thing they were studying were eachothers body movements.
he found a steady pace working his fingers in and out of her, her moans becoming more high pitched, rafe could tell she was close. her hips bucked up into his hand, an unfamiliar knot forming in her stomach.
"rafey— 'm gonna— fuck!"
rafe was in genuine disbelief, not only did he cum in his pants but this was the first time he had ever heard you swear, tonight was a lot of firsts. the girl that he had been crushing on for weeks was about to cum on his fingers, moaning his name. he was never letting her go after this.
almost like it was on cue, y/n's orgasm hit like a truck. her entire body was shaking and she swore she saw stars. on top of that, rafe was still working his fingers in and out of her riding out her orgasm. she swatted his hands away, whining, and he took his hand out of her pants, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking them clean. she falls off of his lap onto the cool comforter beside him, chest heaving. he lays beside her and wraps his arms around her waist.
"want me to go run a bath, sweetheart?" he kisses the nape of her neck and cages her in. "'n a minute, just stay here for a second."
Summary - She met him by accident—tripping over fate in a crowded market and into the arms of a male with wings, shadows, and a gaze that lingered too long. She called him creepy. He felt the bond snap like a blade to the heart.
She didn't know she'd been watched. He didn't know he'd finally been found.
What starts as coincidence turns into destiny tangled in laughter, bruises and shadows that adore her far too much.
She doesn't fall for the legend whispered about in courts—she falls for the male who catches her every time she stumbles.
And Azriel, who has lived centuries in silence, learns that some bonds don't bind. They bring you home.
Tags - fated mates, fluff, banter and teasing, opposites attract, sunshine x grumpy, healing love
Contents -
❣︎ One | The First Pull | 2.4k words
❣︎ Two | A Spark in the Dark | 2.4k words
❣︎ Three | Choosing Forever | 3.5k words
❣︎ Four | Safe in the Shadows | 2.3k words
❣︎ Five | Tender Hands | 2.4k words
❣︎ Six | Where Love Lands | 2k words
ACOTAR Masterlist
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
Another requested fic that I whipped up fairly quickly, and I had so much fun writing!! It's a little reminiscent of "Afterglow" and "Fated" but quickly took on a life of its own :)
Expect lots of fluff, banter, and flirty chaos. She's all sunshine and clumsy energy, and he's... well, the perfect solid base to catch her every stumble x
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
