teacher's pet ₊˚⊹

teacher's pet ₊˚⊹ -

Elias Hart teaches mathematics the way a drill sergeant commands a battlefield.

He’s fourty-seven, infamous across the school for turning grown adults into trembling overachievers. His classroom feels like stepping into a storm: one wrong answer and the temperature drops ten degrees. He doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t need to. His disappointment hits harder than anger ever could.

He walks into every lecture like he owns the room, spine straight, eyes sweeping over the rows of students as if challenging each of them to try him. No late work. No excuses. No leniency. Elias enforces rules the way other people breathe: effortlessly, constantly, without apology.

And then there’s you —

the one student who refuses to break under him.

The one who talks back. The one who meets his stare instead of folding.

He hates how much he notices you.

Hates how you get under his skin.

Hates that his pulse jumps every time you challenge a theorem just to see if you can crack that perfectly polished exterior. Fuck. He's in love with you.

You, his polar opposite — and not just in age ! He's quiet, he doesn't need to raise his voice, one glare is enough to stop whatever he wants stopped.

You are loud, using your voice — mostly your fists — to get what you want, very violent and very unforgiving.

teacher's pet ₊˚⊹ -

Elias Hart teaches mathematics the way a drill sergeant commands a battlefield. He’s fourty-seven, infamous across the school for turning grown adults into trembling overachievers. His classroom feels like stepping into a storm: one wrong answer and the temperature drops ten degrees. He doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t need to. His disappointment hits harder than anger ever could. He walks into every lecture like he owns the room, spine straight, eyes sweeping over the rows of students as if challenging each of them to try him. No late work. No excuses. No leniency. Elias enforces rules the way other people breathe: effortlessly, constantly, without apology. And then there’s you —

the one student who refuses to break under him. The one who talks back. The one who meets his stare instead of folding. He hates how much he notices you.

Hates how you get under his skin. Hates that his pulse jumps every time you challenge a theorem just to see if you can crack that perfectly polished exterior. Fuck. He's in love with you. You, his polar opposite — and not just in age ! He's quiet, he doesn't need to raise his voice, one glare is enough to stop whatever he wants stopped. You are loud, using your voice — mostly your fists — to get what you want, very violent and very unforgiving.