Teacher's Pet
tw: explicit content. nerd!gojo, teacher!reader, teacher/student, power imbalance. all characters involved are 18+. gojo is a SLUT for older women and also a very very dumb teenage boy.
You have to admit - grading papers is more fun with your best and brightest student mouthing your cunt under your desk.
He's a needy thing, a whiner to the core. Humming needily against your clit until you pet his hair and nudge his throbbing bulge with the toe of your high-heeled shoe.
It's the hand in the hair that makes him moan, though. He clings to your thighs like he's dying, lavishing your clit in kitten licks.
Something tells you he's not getting enough attention at home, but he's a senior, not some middle schooler.
He's a big boy now, and big boys don't forget to calculate for air resistance in addition to friction along the ground.
You hadn't marked any other students off for that, but you knew he was different. Better.
You told him so to his face when he came to complain to you about it. Told him that he was better than that, he should act like it.
Satoru Gojo was smart enough to be halfway through a college degree already, and here he was goofing around in your high school physics class. You'd met masters students who couldn't apply formulae as consistently and accurately as him.
That was where it started, you think. It was honest, sincere. He was so quick on the update, so concise, so good with his calculations.
You didn't get many students like that. It would be nice to see him go further, use his brain, apply himself and learn for the sake of learning. Because he can. Satoru has something great in him, and you want to see it shine.
The look on his face... you hadn't forgotten it even after going home that day.
Something in him changed after that talk. A good change, at first; always raising his hand, writing out his answers more thoroughly, asking discussion questions.
His face would just light up when you accepted his answers. He drank in every ounce of praise, attention, and conversation you could offer. Stayed after class to discuss material, even started reading different books to talk to you about.
When he told you he wanted to major in physics, get his degree - just like you had - you thought you'd really done something. Changed his life.
It was every teacher's dream, making a difference like that. Being a teacher hadn't been your dream, but knowing that you'd changed the course of Satoru Gojo's life, even just a little... it was a nice thought.
You couldn't deny there was a bit of envy in you, of course. He just understood things so much faster than you ever did, took to it all right away, acted like it was elementary.
And then, of course, he's spectacularly handsome. Beautiful, even. You didn't miss the way the other students - even some other boys - fawned over him.
On one notable incident one such girl had pulled him out of your after-class discussions - "Please, it's important, aren't your already acing Physics?" - and... well, maybe it was a hit of realism for you.
Maybe you'd gotten ahead of yourself. You were just his teacher, after all. Even a teacher can only have so much influence on his life. There were so many other people who knew him, cared about him, spent much more time with him than you did.
In the story of Satoru Gojo, you were a footnote, at best. Just a teacher he had in high school, nothing more.
The beautiful young man left the room with the beautiful young woman, and there you were, sitting, grading papers.
That could have been you, once.
Maybe you could have dated a smart colleague your age when you were in college, instead of someone older, cooler, more adult -
Just man enough to marry you, take out a hundred loans, and skip town to leave you holding the bag.
You'd watched the closed door with a nostalgic sort of bitterness. Then again, maybe it was never in the cards for you. You didn't have any family, much less a rich, well-respected one like the Gojo.
You probably never would, at this rate. And why would you even want one? Kids, with your schedule, with your debt?
You know better, now, than to expect a man to stick around to raise them. Maybe that was your one stroke of luck, that you never had a child.
It wasn't worth it to get a boyfriend. It wasn't easy like it would be for him; people fell over themselves to get Satoru Gojo's attention, to have his eyes on them. Girls left notes in his lockers, guys sucked up to him, everyone wanted a piece.
You're missing pieces. Old and jaded. With broken dreams of a PhD and a mountain of debt as your company. Who'd want you?
All you have is your work, and the pittance you're paid for it. At least you're good at it.
There's a little less enthusiasm in your voice, after that. When you take Gojo's answers - if you call on him at all - or give him his test results.
It just seems so pointless. The wind is out of your sails, the memory of youthful optimism and joy diminished when you remember what you are.
A leftover. Used up and discarded.
You keep your after-school discussions brief but respectful. It's hard to encourage him. Satoru Gojo is destined for success no matter what he does. He certainly doesn't need your help.
But then something strange happens.
You give a pop quiz and Gojo gets a B. His perfect answers start to crack. He doesn't show his work, doesn't do anything more than the bare minimum.
He does, however, go to office hours. But he doesn't speak - he just stares.
Those icy blue eyes. Bright. Piercing. Demanding, as if he has questions.
As if you have any answers he doesn't already know. Frustrating, beautiful, clever boy, he doesn't need your help, doesn't need anything from you, so why is he here?
"Can I help you with something, Mister Gojo?" You remember asking.
You remember him saying that you could. Stalking up to your desk like he thought he was slick. Eying you carefully.
You don't remember how it went down after that. What he did, how he started it.
But you remember to lock the door every time he's in here with you. If Gojo doesn't do it himself.
Or Satoru, rather. He always begged you to call him that during your first extra credit session.
You still remember his eyes. All wide open and pleading. "Please, sensei! Isn't there anything I can do?"
The memory brings a chuckle bubbling up your throat. The feigned innocence, the clumsy attempt at seduction.
Fuck, but he was pretty. Still is. Prettiest eighteen year old you've ever seen. And tall. All pent up and horny all the time, but so cute about it, so needy.
And you're - maybe you're a bit lonely.
And god, it feels so good to be wanted again.
"What's so funny?" He whines, breath hot against your folds.
You tap down on his dick with the tip of your shoe, enough that he groans again, "Keep going. You haven't earned it yet."
That just makes him whine again, but he closes his lips in your clit, fingers tightening on your thighs, tongue pressing hard into the swollen bud, pulsing through your core.
You stay casual, focused on the papers. Even as you feel yourself tightening up - Satoru can feel it too, you think. He always paid such good attention.
At least, when you were the one teaching him.
"There," you murmur, grinding your shoe into the bulge in his pants, slipping down one hand to his hair, feathery white, "Just a little more..."
He makes a grunt and your mind fills in the indignant I know, as if he's insulted you think he doesn't.
Satoru knows how close you are, and he laves his tongue over your clit, hard strokes, fast, enough to have you biting your lip as you tilt your head back, giving away as little as possible before -
"Ah," Light, airy, a sudden heat flits through you, rising up to your cheeks as release blooms between your legs.
You sigh a little bit, loosening your grip in his hair. When did it get so tight?
When you pull your foot away from his crotch, it's still noticeably hard.
"Hey," He looks up at you with big blue eyes. Wet, pink lips. Pleading face wet with your cum. "Can I come to your place?"
"That's not quite appropriate between a teacher and student," You drawl, giving his head a fond stroke.
Satoru's pretty white lashes flutter lightly at the touch, and he shivers just a little. Like he can't help himself.
"Pleeeeeaasse?" He whines, pressing himself up against you, "I'll be good. I'm so good. Aren't I? Come on, I did good!"
Your lips quirk to the side, as if in contemplation. Sure, he did well, but Satoru's always the cutest, the most obedient, the easiest when he feels like he's got something to prove.
"Half points," You say, packing up your papers, "You could have done better."
Not I've had better, or it could be better, or even I'm disappointed. No, you had to tell him you believed in him... and that he fell just short.
That's what lights up the look in his eyes, sends a wild insistence surging through him.
"Wait!" His hand wraps around your wrist as you stand up to leave, "I'll do it, I'll do better. Let me come with and you'll see."
Satoru looks so silly like this. On his hands and knees, half-crawled out from under your desk, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.
But you're too old for this, for him. You know what happens next.
You take in strays, you get bit.
"I'll see you next time, Mister Gojo," You tell him with a smooth smile, and he withers at the use of his name, "Please try harder next time."
"But you ca-"
"On the next quiz, Mister Gojo," You speak over him with the firm, stern voice that always has him straightening his shoulders.
Poor thing. His dick is probably throbbing in his pants, if he hasn't cum in them already.
You close the door behind you when you leave, Satoru stuck behind you in the room.
You don't look back.
He's sulking, the next time you see him. It's adorable.
You watch him, elbow propped up on his desk, resting his chin on his hand while he stares out the window with a stubborn scowl on his face.
Precious. Look at those chubby, puffed-up cheeks. You could almost take a bite out of him.
"Mister Gojo..." You say, and he doesn't turn his head, "Mister Gojo."
Loud enough that the entire class turns to him, staring. Satoru takes a long moment pursing his lips and looking up at you wordlessly.
With an elegant, unbothered smile, you say, "Just checking to see if you were still with us, Mister Gojo. Now, as I was saying, the wave-particle duality can also be applied to matter, and in fact even subatomic particles can be demonstrated to behave like waves. This is important because..."
Approaching his table as you trail off, you look at him, brow raised in expectation, and Satoru looks away, silent.
"Care to fill us in, Mister Gojo?" You prod. Does he hate being called Mister Gojo that much?
"Nope," Satoru says, popping the p.
You have to hold back a laugh. "I see. Well, don't feel too bad, Mister Gojo," You say as you stride past his chair back up to the front, "It is an advanced topic. A high schooler like you wouldn't be expected to know that sort of thing."
That rankles, you can tell - "Because in quantum mechanics-"
"Moving on!" You speak over him, turning to the board and pulling down a screen.
The class shuffles as you lead them into the next lesson. Satoru is prickly, annoyed, his leg bouncing with errant energy the whole time it goes on.
He stands up after class, ready to walk up and speak to you, but you're quicker, already on your way out.
"Hey," He calls after you - never subtle, that one.
Once again, you don't stop. Maybe a few more days and he'll cool down.
It's something that looms in the back of your mind as you go about your day, teach your other classes, head back home.
This little stint with Satoru isn't going to last, after all. Really, you should be a lot more worried, since he's a student, and you're a teacher, but he's an adult so it's not like you'd face criminal charges.
You could be fired, but with how hard up schools were for physics teachers, you'd find a new position somewhere.
But Satoru isn't stupid. And you're discreet. It's not like you've done that much with him anyways.
It's fun, you can admit. A little bit of that energy from your youth, the joy of being wanted and chased and having a good-looking boy fall over himself for your attention.
Happier times. A better life. But those times are long gone, you're painfully aware.
You come home to a dingy studio apartment, with no more furniture than a bed and an end table. It's ramen again, tonight, and then scrolling on your phone in bed until you fall asleep. Maybe read some books you'd picked up from the library.
Just like you do every day. You have no friends left after your life went to shit. You wouldn't want anyone to see you living like this anyways.
It's cold, because you can't afford to pay much for heat, and you have to lock and deadbolt the door in case the loan sharks come by in the middle of the night again.
A reminder. Nothing good can last. You could pour all your heart into a man, all the encouragement and attention into your students, and you're still here, at the end of the day.
All you could do was enjoy what you had while it lasted. You could like Satoru, you could love him, even, but he'd never love you.
Couldn't even blame him. You didn't, either.
The next time Satoru catches you during office hours, he's well and truly desperate. Eyes wide and searching, frantic, door slamming and locking behind him as he stalked towards you.
"You're ignoring me."
"I rather think you've been ignoring me, Mister Gojo," You say, brandishing the formality like a shield, "Which is wholly inappropriate, considering I'm your teacher."
"Do you even like me?" He whines, leaning onto your desk, slipping his shades down to look you in the eyes, "You never want to hang out."
"Probably because I'm your teacher," The amusement in your tone is palpable, "I don't care to hang out around teenagers."
"Don't be like that!" Satoru leans in closer to you, "I know I get you off!"
You give him a sharp look. "Lower your voice. Satoru."
He stiffens up at that, avoiding your gaze, looking utterly scolded. Honey and vinegar, as the saying goes.
And maybe you do feel a little bit bad for him. He looks so morose, sometimes, listless. He is, after all, just a teenager who wants to be seen.
You slide your chair back in your desk, and it's a testament to your time together that Satoru immediately crouches to get underneath and between your legs.
You can't help a laugh, patting his head as he closes the distance, parting your thighs.
"Not today, sweet boy," You coo, sliding back even further.
Satoru's gaze is equal parts excitement and apprehension; he doesn't let go of your thighs. "What are we gonna do?"
You pull out a seat next to you. "Grade homework. It's time you put that brain to use."
The groan he makes is utterly hilarious. You laugh out loud, tugging him up by the hand, which he refuses to let go even when you shake it.
"I don't wanna," even as he speaks, he sits himself awkwardly in the chair next to you, scooting it closer, until you're touching, "Let's do something fun. I do all this stuff in class already."
"No you don't. You pout like a baby and refuse to engage with the material. It's very cute, but I know you're better than that, Satoru."
The redness on his cheeks brings a warm feeling to your chest.
"I could have answered it. You know that."
"I do," and you don't miss how his chest puffs up at that, either, "But I also know that you're my good boy, and good boys don't ignore their teachers. You can make it up to me, right?"
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "...Yeah."
"That's what I thought," You say warmly, watching him get to work, "And with both of us doing this, it'll go twice as fast."
"I'm failing everyone," Satoru grumbles, and you giggle - this makes the tips of his ears red.
He grades the papers accurately, so you let his little comment pass.
But you don't start grading papers. Instead, your hand makes its way down to his thigh, making him tense up.
"What are you - "
"Be good for me, Satoru," You say, catching his bright-blue gaze in a piercing stare, "You can do that, right? You're such a smart young man. Focus. Don't move."
You can see the realization course through him (your clever boy) as your hand inches towards his cock. His adam's apple bobs as his eyes flick back to his papers.
"The faster you finish grading, the faster you finish. But I'm checking your work as you go," leaning in closer, "One mistake, and I stop."
"Do you think you can do it for me, Satoru?" You purr into his ear as you slip under his jeans to grasp him - he gasps. "Or is that too hard for you?"
You're pretty sure he's never been harder.
"Of course I can," Satoru's voice is impressively smooth, "You better get going. I've already started."
A grin creeps up your face. So he thinks he can last that long?
Running your hands around his dick, feeling it; there's already cum pearling up at the tip.
"I see you have," You say, casually leaning shoulder-to-shoulder as you look over the papers he's grading, "But so have I, no?"
Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp grunt that wilts into a moan as you squeeze him at the tip, rubbing your thumb over his head. Stroking, you coax his precum along his length.
Next to you, his body strains with the effort of containing himself. You watch him mark the papers with efficiency you've never seen in all your years teaching. What a good boy, indeed.
So cute. His pretty face tightened in concentration, eyes gleaming with desire, with that boyish glee in his own talent that Satoru wears so well.
Forget taking a bite out of him. You want to eat him up.
It doesn't help that he's throbbing, twitching in your hands. Satoru is long, too - pretty, you think, when you glance at it - and it sends a flash of heat down your core.
"Distracted by something?" There's an unmistakable pride in his voice, even though his whole body is half trembling at your touch.
His cock is practically jumping in your hand.
Half-scoffing, half-chuckling, you place a kick on his cheek - his cock spurts just a little bit at it, and you have to bite back a cackle.
"Of course not," You coo, "I thought long and hard to come up with a test that could actually challenge you. My best student."
Long strokes, now, combined with praise that has his dick jumping again, a full-body reaction of energy coursing through him.
"But I know you can do it," Leaning in, you lay a kiss against his neck, nuzzling into there affectionately, "You're such a clever boy. You can do it, right?"
His hips jerk, twitching, along with the sharp scrawl of the pen in his hands. No mistakes, not yet. And so close -
He says your name, then. "Sensei," when you refuse to answer to it.
You squeeze him harder, like you can hold onto him if you just clench tightly enough. Like his little pants and whimpers of your name mean anything more than that he's close.
Like just having him like this, in your hands, at your mercy, makes him yours.
Warm, wet, hot and spurting out - "No - no, no not yet- fuck - fuck," he half-heaves in a sound torn between anguish and ecstasy.
His arms freeze up at his sides, and he shivers, choking on a sob before he melts into the chair. All over your hand. Face flushed red hot with bliss.
White lashes flutter over his eyes, blue and blown wide in pleasure. His pretty mouth hanging open, panting.
There's one paper left.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," You tut as you pull your hand away, wiping it off on his shirt, "And you were so close to finishing, too. I guess there are some things even my best student isn't capable of."
"Come ooooonnnn. You totally did that on purpose." Satoru slumps in your direction, still boneless. Face full of that boyish charm.
Still touch-hungry, even now, like a cat butting its head into your hand.
You snicker, even though you oblige him with a gentle hand in his hair, "Oh? I didn't know you wanted me to go easy on you."
Satoru leans over, into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, "Don't be like that, sensei~ I'll make it up to you."
And that gets a giggle out of you. Because he's cute, he's flirty, and maybe you get just a little wet at the thought of what his well-trained mouth can do.
He positively preens at the sound, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, holding you close.
Soft lips tickle at your throat. Then teeth -
You shove him away, gathering yourself in a moment and standing up.
"What-"
"Make it up to me? That's a reward for you. I don't reward failure." You say. It's meant to be teasing, but it comes out colder, harder than you mean it.
There's panic in his eyes as he looks up at you. Bright, blinding.
"What, you're gonna leave? Just like that? You can't be serious," He stands up himself, grabbing you by the upper arm, "Just stay. I won't even ask to go home with you this time!"
"That's enough, Mister Gojo," you say, shoving his arm off, striding towards the door.
"Don't leave," The words are low, mournful, "Just tell me what you want me to do, I'll do it! Don't leave me!"
This time, you do look back. Satoru stands there, looking after you, forelorn like some kind of kicked puppy.
That's just how it is, though. It's what he gets for loving someone older, unworthy of him. He should know better than to want a woman nearly twice his age.
In a way, you're doing him a favor. Making sure he doesn't end up like you did.
When he finally gives his heart to someone, it should be -
You slam the door behind you.
