working as gojo's teaching assistant is both a privilege and a nightmare. privilege? sure, if you call fetching his coffee and grading papers he can't be bothered to look at "career experience." nightmare? because he never misses a chance to remind you how utterly beneath him you are.
“ahh, you tried, didn’t you?” he says, peering over the essay you spent hours grading, blue eyes sharp and smug. he flicks a red mark with his finger like it personally offends him. “this correction isn’t wrong per se.. but it’s cute you thought you’d get it right on the first try.”
cute. he always says that. like he’s patting a child on the head. like you’re some bright eyed intern with no brain cells.
you clench your jaw, trying to swallow the humiliation that crawls up your throat. “i thought—”
“ah, see, that’s your first mistake,” he interrupts, smiling. “thinking.” he leans back in his chair, arms folding casually over his chest as if he’s bored of this conversation already. “you’ve got a lot to learn, sweetheart. luckily, you’ve got me to teach you. and who better, right?”
he doesn’t wait for an answer. he never does.
“i mean, i’ve got a whole decade of experience on you. ten years. that’s a long time to be better at everything, don’t you think?” he tilts his head, condescending and devastatingly pretty, and you hate that your chest tightens whenever he looks at you like that—like you’re something he could break in his hand without a second thought.
“maybe one day you’ll get there,” he continues, voice dripping with faux encouragement. “but until then, i’ll just have to keep cleaning up after you, huh? not that i mind, of course. it’s kind of.. endearing, watching you try so hard.”
you snap. you don’t mean to—it’s unprofessional, reckless—but something about the way he smiles at you as if you were some kind of joke finally makes you spit back, “if you think i’m so bad at this, why don’t you fire me?”
gojo freezes for half a second, his brows lifting in mock surprise. then, the smile spreads wider, sharper, and you know instantly you’ve made a mistake.
“fire you?” he repeats, like he’s trying not to laugh. he gets up slow, chair scraping back against the floor, and for a second you think maybe he’s joking—until he starts to circle.
his steps are unhurried, quiet except for the dull sound of his shoes against the floor. he keeps his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, like he’s just pacing out of habit. but his eyes don’t move off you. he passes behind your chair, glancing at the papers on your desk, the half finished coffee, then back to you.
“you’re too fun to fire,” he says finally, voice even. but there’s still something behind it—something sharp you can’t quite name.
he rounds the desk in two easy strides, crowding into your space until your back hits the edge of the desk. your pulse jumps, heart racing as his hand settles on the surface beside you, caging you in.
“you know what your problem is?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low as his free hand tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you think you can talk back to me. like you’re equal to me.” he chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “but you’re not. not even close.”
before you can respond, he spins you around, bending you over the desk with ease. the breath rushes out of your lungs as his palm presses firmly into the small of your back, holding you in place.
“you need to learn your place,” he says, his voice smooth and dripping with authority. “and lucky for you, i’m such a generous teacher.”
his hands are everywhere. just rough and demanding, pushing your skirt up over your hips without a second thought. he’s all smug efficiency, like he’s done this a thousand times and mastered the art of making you feel utterly exposed and at his mercy.
“look at you,” he says, his voice laced with mock pity. “already shaking. you’re so eager to be put in your place, aren’t you?” he laughs softly, and it’s maddening how he sounds so composed.. so in control.. all while your pulse pounds in your ears.
his fingers dig into your hips, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure you never forget who’s in charge here. just listen to me.”
your cheek presses against the cool wood of the desk, your breath shaky and uneven as gojo's hands roam over your body.
“so quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his tone light but biting. “what happened to all that attitude, huh? you had so much to say just a second ago.”
you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but the silence only makes him laugh - a low, condescending sound that has heat crawling up your spine.
“oh, i get it.” his fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down agonizingly slowly. “you only know how to run your mouth when you think you’re in control.” he pauses, leaning in close enough that his lips brush the shell of your ear. “but you’re never in control, sweetheart. not with me.”
he straightens up, one hand pressing into the small of your back to keep you pinned as the other trails down, teasing along the curve of your ass. “look at this,” he drawls, his tone dripping with mockery. “bent over my desk like a good little assistant. this is probably the only thing you’re good at, isn’t it?”
your nails dig into the desk, a mix of humiliation and arousal flooding your system. “fuck you,” you spit, the words sharp but shaky.
gojo clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “such a dirty mouth for someone so incompetent! do you even realize how pathetic you sound?” his hand comes down suddenly, a sharp smack against your skin that had you immediately gasping from how unexpected it was. “there. that’s a much better sound.”
he grips your hip with one hand, his other trailing down between your thighs. his touch is teasing- never giving you enough to ground yourself. “this is what you’re good for,” he murmurs, his voice silky and cruel. “a pretty little thing to use however i want. maybe if you’re lucky, i’ll let you feel good too..”
your pride flares, but your body betrays you, hips shifting back instinctively to chase his touch. gojo laughs, a sharp, smug sound that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.
“oh, you’re that desperate, huh?” his fingers press against you, just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “guess i shouldn’t be surprised. you can’t do anything on your own, after all. always need someone to take care of you. isn’t that right?”
“fuck off,” you grind out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and want.
“wrong answer.” another sharp slap lands on your skin, his tone turning colder, sharper. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you? fine. let’s see how much fight you have left after i’m done with you.”
he wastes no time, lining himself up and sinking into you in one smooth, unrelenting motion. the stretch burns, your breath hitching as he fills you completely, his grip bruising on your hips.
“god, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his composure slipping for just a moment before the arrogance seeps back into his tone. “tight as hell, too. no wonder you’re so useless during the day—you’re too busy fantasizing about this, aren’t you?”
your silence only eggs him on, his pace unrelenting as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. “come on, sweetheart. don’t get shy on me now. tell me—do you think about this when you’re sitting in my lectures? when you’re grading those shitty essays? bet you can’t even focus because you’re too busy thinking about how bad you want me to ruin you.”
his words cut deep, each one sinking into you with the same force as his hips slamming against yours. your breath comes out in broken gasps, your mind a haze of humiliation and overwhelming pleasure.
“you’re so easy to break,” he says, a cruel smile evident in his voice. “thought you’d put up more of a fight, but look at you now. nothing but a mess under me. guess that’s all you’ll ever be. it's pathetic”
you whimper, your resolve crumbling as his pace picks up, every thrust hitting deeper, harder. you really needed this.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. “be a good little assistant and take it. maybe if you’re good enough, i’ll even let you cum. but only if you earn it.”
his grip tightens, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release, dragging you along with him until the only thing you know is him—his touch, his voice, his complete and utter control..
“fine,” he says, his voice sharp. “if you want to be stubborn and just moan, i can play that game too. but don’t think for a second that i’m letting you cum until you’re begging for it. and even then? maybe i’ll just leave you here dripping just until you learn how to be fucking grateful.”
“..please. just- god- just let me cum already!”
you finally tipped over the edge, your body trembling as you cum, a broken cry spilling from your lips. gojo groans, his grip bruising as he follows close behind, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spills inside you, his breathing ragged.
he stays there for a moment, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch almost gentle. then he chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your exposed shoulder.
“told you i’d teach you something,” he murmurs, smug and insufferable as always. “guess i’m just a really good teacher.”
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