𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, benj nielsen x reader

1 | the tutor and tutored

Y/N

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My entire life, I've been drilled on the idea that reputation is everything when you start high school. It's like this mantra everyone's chanting—teachers, parents, friends. It's in the air I breathe, shaping how I walk, talk, and even smile. Somehow, I ended up being the girl everyone labels as popular, pretty, and perfect. I never asked for the title, but it clings to me like a second skin, impossible to shake off. And now, whether I like it or not, I've got to live up to it.

Sports have been my sanctuary, my way of keeping up that image. Volleyball, cheerleading, basketball, softball—name it, and I'm probably good at it. Except soccer. Soccer and I have always been mortal enemies. But beyond the courts and fields, I've prided myself on being more than just an athlete. I'm smart, too—straight A's across the board. Well... except for English.

"Your grades are slipping, and your attendance has been erratic," Mrs. Jones begins, her voice slicing through the ambient murmur of students outside. The dimly lit classroom suddenly feels like a dungeon, with her sitting behind her desk like the judge, jury, and executioner. The desk between us might as well be a canyon.

I cross my arms, my shoulders stiffening in defiance. "So? If I'm failing, it's not my fault. Maybe you're just not teaching me well enough."

"And you're right, Ms. [Y/N]," Mrs. Jones says, her voice laced with frustration. My smirk, which I meant to be provoking, seems to only fortify her resolve. "Given your struggles, I've arranged for you to have a tutor. His name is Benj Nielsen."

The name hits me like a sucker punch. Benj Nielsen—the guy who became the butt of everyone's jokes after that whole public rejection fiasco. The idea of spending time with him feels like the universe playing a cruel joke on me. I'm not one to judge too quickly, but this? This feels like too much.

"What?" I blurt out, disbelief coloring my voice as I shake my head. My smirk fades, replaced by pure shock. "No way! Absolutely not!"

"You don't have a choice," Mrs. Jones says, her gaze as steely as ever. "Well, you do, but it involves giving up your spot on the cheerleading team."

My jaw drops. "You're kidding!"

"Nope," she says, her tone unwavering.

I roll my eyes, the frustration boiling over. "Fine, okay!" I snap, my voice tinged with defeat. The rest of the class drags on like molasses, my mind fixated on the nightmare ahead. Meeting Benj is not something I'm eager to check off my to-do list.

He better be some kind of miracle worker.

The day of the tutoring session arrives with a sense of impending doom. I spend the day with my friends, carefully avoiding any mention of my new academic punishment. At lunch, we huddle around our table, our cheer uniforms still gleaming from practice—a stark contrast to my sinking mood.

"There goes your boyfriend," Alexia announces, her gaze fixed on the cafeteria entrance. I follow her line of sight to find Michael, the guy I've been low-key obsessed with for what feels like forever. Despite my so-called popularity, Michael—a sophomore—has never seemed to notice me. At least not since this year.

I sigh, trying to squash the hope I see in Alexia's eyes. "He's not my boyfriend," I say, poking at my food like it's personally offended me.

"Yeah, but he will be!" Alexia chirps, her eyes sparkling. "There's a huge party next weekend!"

"Oh no, I think I'm done with parties," I respond, memories of a previous disaster still fresh in my mind.

"No, no, Koosh isn't hosting this one," Alexia reassures me, seeing my relief. "It's Katrina's. I heard it's going to be epic! And since you and she are basically besties, you're invited. Which means I'm invited, and of course, Michael will be there too."

"She's not my best friend," I laugh, taking a bite of my lunch. Alexia just gives me a look, shrugging it off.

"Whatever," she says. "This could be your chance to show Michael you're the perfect girl for him!"

"See!" I retort, catching Alexia's confused expression. "I don't want to be just a girl. I want to be a woman."

"And you will be!" she insists. "Just come to the party, okay? You'll figure it out."

"Okay," I agree, though my heart is weighed down with reluctance.

The day drifts by in a haze, and soon I find myself standing in English class again, dreading the inevitable tutoring session. Benj and I stand awkwardly side by side, our backpacks like weights of fate, as Mrs. Jones introduces us.

"Benj, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], this is Benj, your tutor for English," she says, her tone as formal as a job interview.

Benj awkwardly extends a hand, trying to be friendly, but I leave it hanging, a silent statement of my resistance. He pulls his hand back, scratching his neck awkwardly as Mrs. Jones continues, "Today, you'll be working in the library. I'll be three doors down if you need anything. The librarian will also be there, so don't try anything you're not supposed to do."

Trying 'anything' with Benj is the last thing on my mind.

"Okay," Benj mutters, his voice tinged with nerves as he shifts his backpack. We make our way to the library, which now feels more like a prison, and sit at a small table, each taking a side like we're about to engage in a staring contest.

An awkward silence stretches between us until I finally break it, my voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "So, I've never been good at English, and this essay is stressing me out. I don't even know where to start."

Benj looks at me with unexpected empathy, his gaze softening. "Don't worry. We'll break it down together. What's the essay about?" he asks, leaning a little closer.

I pull out my notes and Chromebook, but from across the table, Benj can't see a thing. He shifts closer, sitting beside me, and I'm suddenly very aware of how near he is. His curls frame his face in a way that's oddly... endearing.

"It's about analyzing a poem," I explain, my voice faltering slightly under the weight of his proximity. "I've read it five times, and I'm still lost."

Benj helps me with the essay, and despite the initial awkwardness, he turns out to be surprisingly good at it. As we work, the tension between us doesn't exactly disappear, but it shifts, becoming something more complex. His leg brushes against mine under the table, his arm grazes mine as he points out something on the screen, and I'm left feeling... conflicted.

Hours tick by, and as Benj pulls my Chromebook closer to type something, I'm struck by a sudden wave of discomfort. To break the tension, I ask, "So... what do you do for fun? I mean, besides tutoring me," but my attempt at conversation falls flat.

Benj looks at me, clearly hesitating. He starts to answer, but the ding of my phone cuts him off. I glance at the screen—my mom, telling me to get home. "Sorry, I've got to go!" I say, grabbing my stuff in a rush.

Benj looks confused, maybe even a little concerned, as I bolt out of the library, leaving him behind. The silence of the library swallows my hasty exit.