Yuki

the thought looped in your head, tauntingly. you were the one who corrected your professor's typo for schordinger's equation slides. you were the one who took philosophy 101 - for fun. fun. the memory of saying that to your advisor, with a breezy wave of your hand, now felt like a physical object lodged in your throat.

because the thing sitting on the scarred wood of your desk, was not fun.

it was a D-.

not a D, but a D-, the academic equivalent of a gut punch followed by a condescending pat on the head. you had never gotten a D- in your life, let alone get a D.

professor geto's voice breaks your loop of thoughts, you watch him standing over at the lectern, speaking calmly,"this was your first-term's paper. some of you did great, plausible arguments.." he continued, eyes sweeping over your peers,"and some of you could.. do better."

the bell rings and he exits the classroom, the students huddle up in groups at the front door - discussing their papers. "he's impossible to please." "i studied so hard but got this?" you heard one of the blondes standing at the gates say, she might find it hard, but you are not going to settle with a fucking D-.

you were now standing at the door of professor geto's office. it was a big, wooded gate with his initials on the top left. S.G. Ph.D, ethics and philosophy.

you took a deep breath, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you as you push the door open, instantly inhaling the roasted walnut scent. the walls were high and dark with polished timber, with a desk in the middle and a lost-in-thought professor geto on his chair. his sleeves were pulled up, showcasing his taut forearms - veins slightly rising above the skin. one of his strands was astray from his manbun, falling on his face slightly grazing his cheeks.

phew, there were two things everyone knew about professor geto. one, he was incredibly hot. rumour has it that he's still single, which would be a joke to think about. because two, this man was brilliant. he had a philosophy and ethics phd from a top ivy league. and his recommendation? that was like a golden ticket. if he vouched for you, you didn’t just get selected - you were guaranteed a spot, thanks to the tangled web of connections he carried with him like a second skin.

"are you just gonna stare at me or come in?"

his sweet yet saccharine tone pulled you out of your daydreaming. you cleared your throat, crimson red rising to your cheeks before fumbling inside the doorway. "no- i wasn't. okay. professor."

you said, mentally cringing at yourself before you could embarrass yourself even further. you extended your hands, putting your paper on top of his desk.

"any queries?" he asks, raising a single brow, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he motions for you to sit down.

"yes, i don't understand why my score is so low." you said, appearing more dogmatic than you wanted to be. he looks at your paper once, not really paying attention to it - still smiling, before he politely responds,"because it's bullshit."

"excuse me?" you said, a bit taken aback. "there must be a mistake- im at the top of my physics-"

he finally looks up - slowly like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort. his tone is bored, unimpressed, "top of your physics class" he repeats, savoring the words,"how… reassuring. i'm sure this is relevant to.. this subject?"

you don't have an answer, because honestly it is not relevant. but what you cannot have is failure and that is - one thing you are sure of.

"professor, i wrote so much- my research, arguments-"

"your arguments are baseless." he says sharply, leaning back in his seat, as if your words mean nothing more than inconvenience. "in paragraph 4, you failed to highlight the reasoning behind the text."

"okay tell me, what's wrong with it then." you challenged, feeling brave all of a sudden-then doubt clawed its way up from your gut. maybe you shouldn’t have said anything.

"All right, Y/n." he shifts in his chair, leaning forward finally looking at me, his eyes low lidded, glinting in the low light. "what is morality?"

you blinked, morality? rules? wrong and right? you opened your mouth, unsure of what to really say. "doing.. what is right?"

"right, yes. but who decides what’s right? society? law? personal conscience? and what if those answers conflict? What if doing what you think is right… harms someone else?"

you blinked, you hadn't thought of this before. your throat feels a little dry, "i guess.. you have to weigh-.."

"weigh the consequences? yeah?" geto said, his eyes never leaving yours. heat crawled up your throat as he stood slowly, deliberately, the scrape of his chair against the floor sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room. he took a step near you.

"consider this" he continued, leaning forward, one of his hands coming up to rest on the chair, slightly touching my shoulder,"A choice that satisfies desire, curiosity, or need - but crosses someone else’s boundaries… is it moral if no one is hurt? or immoral if consequences are inevitable? where do you draw the line?"

you swallow, feeling intimidated by the closeness or his line of questioning which felt more personal. his intense gaze burning into you, he tilted his head waiting for answer. he let the silence linger, letting the weight of your inability to respond settle - an imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he enjoyed your struggle.

"exactly." he muttered softly, now leaning closer almost an inch away from your ear - his breath hot on your earlobe, making you shift in your seat, your heart hammering in your chest, "and your argument was that morality is absolute."

he shifted away instantly, throwing your paper back on the desk,"do better on the next one."

-----

you had been staying up late for past two weeks, researching contents for your new philosophy paper. you don't know why, or what, but you want to impress professor geto. maybe it was the way he stood over you when you sat on his chair, or maybe it was the way he was talking or his brilliance command at philsophy. maybe you had a thing for intelligent men.

you got a B+.

this time, you didn’t storm. you didn’t fume. infact, it felt better than the last time, and felt earned, but you wondered why not an A+. what are you missing? you just gathered the paper, your notes, and walked to his office during his posted hours. 

when you entered, the familiar scent of roasted walnuts and old paper wrapped around you - he was at his desk, hand swiftly working to mark papers. he glanced up, and for a moment a look of recognition and anticipation passed his features, his brow slightly raised.

"Y/n" he said, setting the pen down. his voice was neutral, but his attention was complete.,"the B+."

he watched you as you sat, his eyes moving for a brief second, down your neck, looking at the open collar, revealing your cleavage. he licked his lips before moving his eyes up to your face again, he cleared his throat. hell, are you hallucinating? did your hot professor just check you out?

"it's a significant improvement. and not total bullshit." he said, eyes moving on the stack of papers again. you didn't blink,"where am I lacking?"

"courage."

"courage?" you repeated.

"yeah" he said, leaning forward on the table.

"you've got the brains. you've got the work ethic. your arguments are airtight. and they're boring as hell."

you flinched, furrowing your brows. but he didn't stop. "you're so worried about being wrong, that your not able to write your own thoughts into it." he tapped your paper with a finger,"an A isn't for perfection. it's about how bold you are to express your thoughts. how willing you are to be able to challenge the system, backed by your own arguments."

"anyone can follow the rules" he continued, his gaze landing on your lips for a brief second,"it takes something to break them convincingly. it's between respecting a boundary and contemplating on what is on the other side." he put his pen down, sliding your paper back,"one week. don't disappoint me."

he held your gaze for a moment longer, then looked down, breaking the connection with an air of dismissal that felt like a physical release of pressure. but whatever he said, it landed like a key turning in a lock you hadn't even known was there.

your stomach did a slow, treacherous roll. it wasn't nerves. it was worse. it was the sudden, shaming crave for the heat in his eyes when you got something right. needing his validation became a raw, exposed nerve you kept prodding, just to feel the bright, clarifying shock of it.

so you started going to his office. more. A lot more.

at first, it was the ghost of a pretense- a muddled sentence in Levinas you needed untangled. then it was some theory paper you needed comments on. then it was nothing at all. you'd just appear in his doorway with your bag and a raised eyebrow, and he'd sigh and motion you in with a tilt of his head.

and you'd sit with him and talk about philosophy. you had researched his papers he had written in college, and they were so brilliant, that it made your own work look like crayon drawings. you finally got it - why his name on a recommendation letter was basically a golden ticket.  the man didn't just have clout - he was one of the best graduates of his own college. his approval was the cut that proved you were worth suturing.

he was pacing in front of the whiteboard, explaining something about ethical paradoxes, but you were stuck on his hands. the way he gestured -sharp, precise-like he was dissecting the air between you.

"the problem with your argument," he said, not even looking at you, just at the board like it had offended him, "is that you keep assuming the system wants to be fixed. What if it likes being broken? What if the flaw is the point?"

he turned then, marker in hand, and caught you staring. not at the board. at him. as his forearm flexed, the muscles shifting cleanly under his skin as he gestured. the veins popping in his forearms, and the muscles tensing under his black clothing.

"you're not listening."

"i-.. i am." you said, blinking before your mind gets diverted again. oh yeah, you have thought about it. you have thought about your oh so-hot professor when your hands trail down to your panties at night, when you shudder and orgasm on your fingers wishing it was him. when you hump your pillow, because your fingers simply aren't enough and you imagine it's his cock you're riding.

your cheeks grow hot, feeling something wet between your legs. maybe you're ovulating, and he looks really good right now. and whatever you are about to say next is something where you can't return from,"professor.. on my first day..- you asked me what morality is."

he raised on peculiar brow, taking a step forward humming in response,"yes. and? do you have an answer?"

"i do." you said, standing up from your seat - making your way to his desk and halfway sitting on it.

his eyes dropped to where you sat on his desk, then swept back up to your face. his expression was unreadable, but a fierce attention had sharpened his features. he didn't tell you to get down. he just waited.

"So morality" you said, your voice a low, careful thing in the quiet room,"is just the alibi our conscious mind writes for the crimes of our desires." he was standing in the space where your knees almost touched his belt buckle.

"an excuse?" he smirked.

"yeah." you swallowed. your throat was dry.,"We want something. It's messy, or it's wrong, or it'll screw everything up. so we build a whole... a whole philosophy around it. we make it sound noble - but it all starts with a desire."

you continued, pressing your thighs together - the wetness pooling in them,"the meaning isn’t in the moral rule. It’s in the strength of the desire that required the rule to be built around it in the first place.”

he was close enough now that you could see the faint line where his close-shaved beard met his skin, the subtle flutter of a pulse at the base of his throat. his gaze was on your lips and then your breasts, which caused your stomach to churn.

"nd if the desire is…" he began, then paused, as if even he was wary of the uncharted territory. his eyes flicked back up to yours. "…illicit? socially untenable?"

you held his gaze, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs,"Then you build a better alibi. a more compelling philosophy. you justify the unjustifiable.” you tilted your head, the movement subtle,"or you admit the alibi is a fiction, and you choose the desire anyway."

his gaze, which had been locked on yours, dropped to watch his own hand. he saw it there, a professor's hand on a student's thigh, a violation of every rule in the book he’d written his life by. he didn't remove it. he flexed his fingers once- a slow testing grip, as if committing the feel of you to memory.

"justify the unjustifiable." he repeated, his voice husky. his thumb began to move - a slow, deliberate sweep back and forth along the inseam of your pants. "or admit the alibi is fiction?"

your breath hitched, he used his other hand to pull you closer, your legs spread - and there was no mistaking the hard, thick line of his erection straining against the fine wool of his trousers- dark patch of dampness.

"morality" he said, his voice low and utterly focused, "is malleable. It can be shaped, stretched, and hollowed out to fit the contours of any desire strong enough to demand it." he pressed forward, a deliberate, grinding emphasis that made you jerk,"the desire, is permanent. cannot be altered."

you moved closer, hands gripping on his shirt, you pull on his collar, and he's an inch away from you. your hand moves up his face, grazing his jawline and he leans in to kiss you, feverishly. your stomach churns again, he bites your lip, causing you to part them and he uses it to pull you more closer. his other hand is squeezing your sides, particularly your hip dips, causing you to yelp.

his lips move to kiss your neck, biting and sucking. your head leans back, and you could feel your back arching, your cunt practically squelching around nthing. he led a burning path down the column of your throat, his breath hot and unsteady against your skin.

when his lips found the frantic pulse at the base of your neck, drank - open-mouthed suck that pulled a ragged moan from your lungs and left a brand you knew would linger for days.

"Geto-" you gasped, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on as your head fell back.

He didn’t answer with words. his hands left your hips, moving with a frantic, efficient grace. your shirt was pushed up, your bra undone with a flick of his practiced fingers. his mouth was on your breast, his tongue circling a peaked nipple before drawing it deep, his groan vibrating through your very bones. one hand palmed your other breast, his thumb working to pull your nipple causing you to moan. you were panting, arching into his mouth, the polished wood of the desk cool and shocking against your bare back.

he kept sucking on your breasts, spitting on them - his saliva travelling down to your stomach and some on the desk. when he finally lifted his head, his lips were slick, his eyes black with need. he looked utterly wrecked, and it was the most powerful thing you’d ever seen.

"Turn around."

"turn around.",he confirmed, his voice wrecked. he shoved a stack of carefully graded papers and a heavy bronze letter opener aside with a sweeping, careless arm. yhey clattered to the floor. the sound was obscene. he reached for your pants, his fingers fumbling with the button and zipper before he simply yanked, the fabric giving way. he pulled them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you bare and exposed on the dark, scarred wood of his workspace.

he didn’t undress fully. he just unfastened his trousers, freeing himself. He was thick and flushed, leaking at the tip. he gripped himself, stroking once, his eyes locked on where you lay open for him. The visual alone - you, spread across Professor Geto’s desk, surrounded by the artifacts of his intellect- nearly made you come.

he didn’t make you wait. he guided himself to your entrance, the broad head nudging against your slick heat. hr paused there, his entire body trembling with the effort of restraint, his hand coming to your hair - weaving fingers through it, kissing your lips once again.

Then he pushed inside.

it was a slow, devastating invasion, stretching you, filling you utterly. Aachoked cry tore from your throat-a sheer overwhelming sensation. he sank to the hilt and held there, buried deep, his eyes screwed shut as he fought to not ram into you again and again.

when he began to move, it was with a relentless, driving rhythm that had the heavy desk scraping against the floor with every thrust. your legs where shaking, although there were wrapped around his waist. his balls kept bumping your clit again, and again as he pushed in deep. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, his fingers leaving bruises you would cherish tomorrow.

the angle was deep, perfect. each snap of his hips brushed a spot inside you that sparked white behind your eyelids. you clutched at his forearms, your nails digging in, your cries mingling with the slap of skin, the creak of wood, and his groaning.

"look at me" he demanded, his voice raw.

you forced your eyes open, meeting his blazing gaze. He was watching you come apart, studying the fall of your expression with the same intense focus he gave a difficult text,"getting fucked by your professor, y/n? that's low, isn't it?"

you were unraveling at his humiliation, a coil wound too tight for too long. the pressure built, low and electric, radiating from where he joined you. your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper.

“Geto - yes - i'm-"

"I know" he groaned, his rhythm fracturing,"come on. tell me you like getting fucked- hah. like a slut. for me."

his command shattered you - his thumb was on your clit, wave after wave tearing through you, your back bowing off the desk as a silent scream ripped through your throat,"y-yes, i'm sluu--slut for my professor.."

the desk creaked, as he rammed into you again, the pressure becoming unbearable. "cum around my cock, make a mess- fuckk" he said snapping his hips in an upward, direction as you chased your own orgasm.

he watched you convulse around him, his own control snapping. with three final, brutal thrusts, he followed you over, his release hot and pulsing deep inside you, his groan a broken, surrendered thing against your neck.

-----

A+ next week on your thesis paper on morality.

'come see me in my office, 4 pm.' s.g.

-----

A/N: I WROTE THIS AT 2 AM GUYS NOT PROOFREAD

nerd! toji who's in your mechanics class. out of 200 people, you're one of the few girls who has this course - it's a pain in the ass really, you were forced to take this course by your parents, just so they could run a prestige name about their daughter doing the hardest course. you don't really care though - as long as your dad sends you $200 every week for your new salon appointment, oh and as long as you could hit the club every weekend.

16 in bold red lettering, bled through the page, you've failed. your professor tells you there will be a guy to tutor you, the best of his class. you are almost about to say no! until you see the guy and you also remembered how your dad would stop funding your lavish lifestyle if you dropped out of the course. (p.s. it's not the latter)

nerd! toji who's wearing a oversized black hoodie - that does not hide the shape of his bulging biceps. thick-framed glasses sat low on his nose, and green eyes underneath. what a waste of potential, you thought, he could've been a model instead.

nerd! toji who starts tutoring you kepler's laws, his voice flat. leaning forward, your cropped tank revealed a sliver of midriff. denim shorts, frayed and impossibly short, strained as you shifted. you chewed your pen cap, staring blankly at his hands - broad with faint scars across the knuckles - as they moved over the textbook,"do you get it now?"

your knee brushed under the table,"i.. don't get it at all." your voice came out surprisingly sweet. he's annoyed. he's really annoyed. it's been an hour, and you still act like you don't understand. next thing you know, you're in his lap and his hands are on your waist, making you feel hazy.

his fingers are driving in and out of your cunt, while you're bent over the study table. the thick, calloused pad of his thumb was rubbing tight circles on your clit, your ass was in the air exposed to the cool air of the room. your face was buried in the books, while he kept fucking you with his fingers harshly.

"now you understand? huh?" toji rasps behind your ear, breathing heavily as he moved above you. "fucking spoiled daddy's brat." he grunted, wiggling his fingers inside you. you yelped and his other hand came up to cover your mouth. "want everyone to hear what a slut you are, l/n?"

he groaned again, pulling his fingers out of your cunt, your lashline was filled with tears. you could feel coming close to your release, you nodded your head to a no. toji grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head to the side, he pulled a paper from underneath you, and puts it in front of you.

"c'mon what's the first law of kepler?" he tutted, while you lolled your tongue out in response, shaking your head feverously. "plea-"

"no. answer or i'll leave you here." he pulled your hair again, hurting your roots a bit.

"some- planets.. orbit.. i don't know!" you cried out, fat tears running down your face as you pushed your ass back to grind on him, desperate for any friction. he tutted above you again,"wrong answer."

you withered against the table,"please toji- just-"

"i won't. not until you tell me the answer." toji replied, his fingers moving along the edge of your slit in circles. his thumb left your clit, the sensation making you wiggle.

you really unscrewed all the screws in your brain to think of this. toji taught you this, somewhere.. somewhere when you were busy ogling at his fat biceps and fingers, wondering how'd they feel inside of you? oh. oh.

"all planets move in elliptical orbits with sun...at one of the focii?"

"bingo." he drove his finger in again, his middle fingers hitting the most deepest parts inside you. you wondered how his dick would feel if his fingers were so big! you clenched around his fingers, your eyes watering again. toji covered your mouth again, and the desk beneath you rattled as you started shaking. he was pressing circles on your clit, and rubbing it. you could feel yourself cumming, your mouth felt like it ran dry, your ass was arched in the air and eyes tight shut.

this is how you managed to complete all of your mechanics syllabus. and of course, your professor really praised toji when you got a 76 on your retest, even so impressed that he appointed toji as your tutor for the whole semester!

You snap back int reality (courtesy of yuji's reaction) - his hands are on your waist, pupils blown wide, breaths coming in ragged breaths.

A cold wave of clarity hits over you - this kiss meant nothing. The weeks of torture, uraume, her constant comments and sukuna's sneering won't be washed down just because of a kiss - no matter how good it felt.

you let out a dry laugh, dismissive even, wiping the back of your hand with your mouth. yuji's standing there like a cat caught in the headlights, stuttering trying to come up with something. "y-y/n...--"

"Where are you-" sukuna's voice ran through your ears but you were quick to cut him off,"This was a mistake." Then you turned. - picked up your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and walked out closing the door.

-----

The first hour, Sukuna was furious. Spitting, blistering rage. How dare she? How dare she walk away from him like he was nothing? Like that was nothing? He paced the length of the apartment, tearing a book apart just for the rage. Yuji had wisely fled the premises.

The second hour, he replayed the kiss in his head. How it felt. The way you melted into it - even for a second - the way you moaned into his mouth. He felt it. it was real. and then you walked away.

Why?

It began to itch under his skin now, he had taken your number from Yuji's phone and began texting you.

sukuna:

How dare you walk out on me?

Do not defy me, brat.

get back here.

read, 5:18 pm.

You stared at the phone for a second. Does he think he can talk to you like that? You looked back at the frozen ink on your ruined project's page - the one you had worked hours on. And anyone would deem you as dramatic, but when a guy talks to you like that and is a bitch - anyone else would have done the same thing.

Sukuna:

do not ignore me. [blocked]

It’s Thursday. The project is due Friday. Yuji’s apartment is your only option.

The air in Yuji's apartment has always been a few degrees colder. There was a reason for it though and there it was - Sukuna, lounging on the couch as if he’d been waiting, a lazy smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

And beside him was his side-chick (uraume was it?) or whatever she was, you couldn't really figure out their relationship and honestly you didn't want to. She was perched up beside him, her arm draped over his, her clothes all sharp, minimalist lines, and her expression made it clear she found the entire apartment - and everyone in it - deeply beneath her.

It was the cost of Yuji's friendship. Constant comments from Sukuna and Uraume about whatever you did. It's like they had a personal problem with you - picking on every little thing - which led you to be nervous to even go to Yuji's home sometimes.

You and Yuji were already deep in it, highlighting answers you could find for your project. you traced your finger on a graph,"so.. if we cross reference the graph from 1950's.. we can-"

"Back again?" Sukuna's voice was a lazy drawl that didn't bother hiding its boredom,"Don't you have like a library card? Somewhere less.. inhabited?"

Yuji shot him a warning look from the book, "We're working on the group project. Be cool."

"Cool is my default setting. unlike some who seem to radiate... what's the word uraume?"

"Nervous energy" the girl chirped, shifting more closer to Sukuna,"it's so pathetic, almost like she's a middle schooler."

"Look at her hair, they're so... weird."

"Why are her lips shaped like that, baby?"

"Ugh, don't you think she's kinda ugly, 'kuna? No wonder she has never had a boyfriend."

You tried to focus on your books again, clearing ignoring Uraume. Infact, today it was her that was getting to you slowly. You were underlining your texts until you heard another sound.

Click. Click-click.

It was a soft, precise metallic sound. You knew that sound. It was the sound of the cap on your favorite pen-a Pelikan Souverän, a gift from your grandfather for getting into college. It was stupidly expensive, achingly beautiful and wrote like a dream. Your favourite pen. Your head snapped up.

There, in Sukuna’s long fingers, was your pen. He wasn’t writing with it. He was just playing with the cap, clicking it on and off, on and off, a slow, taunting rhythm - eyes fixed on you like mocking you,"Nice pen.."

"Give it back"

He smirked,"This little thing? Why’s it so special? Because it’s expensive?" He unscrewed the barrel, peering at the ink chamber with mock curiosity,"Seems fragile."

"Sukuna, Don't be a dick." Yuji defended, his voice sharp.

"I'm just looking." Sukuna's eyes were sharp, and almost as if you could guess his next move - his hands reached over the barrel and unlocked it slowly, gripping the cap.

"Don't-"

He twisted. And it broke with a snap.

Beautiful, emerald-green ink began to weep from the fractured body, dripping in fat, expensive drops onto your open textbook. It bled across the page you'd just annotated, swallowed your careful notes and pooled around the two broken halves of your grandfather's last gift to you.

Uraume, from the couch let out a perfomative gasp,"Oh, sukunaaaa" she said, voice laced with honey,"How clumsy of you, baby. Look at the mess."

Now, anybody else would deem you as dramatic. But when your grandfather's last gift-the pen he pressed into your hand on his deathbed, his own prized possession, his voice a thread of air saying,"For the important words..." - is lying in pieces in front of you, and a nasty bitch with a mouth is smirking about it? Anybody else would have done the same thing. Anybody's eyes would well up with tears.

"Oh my goddd? is she crying, so melodramatic.."

SLAP.

The sound of your palm against her cheek knocked her head to the side. She froze one hand flying to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with shock,"You nasty- slut!"

Another SLAP.

And this time, her head is knocked to another side, silver hair blew back like a halo. This time, she made no sound, just cupping her face with disbelief and humiliation. You looked past her, at Sukuna, who seemed genuinely baffled. Not smirking. just baffled - head tilted to the side, like he was observing something he had never seen, perhaps even pride.

Your eyes were still fresh with tears, now flowing down your face.

"The next time you put your hands on something that’s mine" you said,"I won’t be slapping the bitch you have doing your talking for you."

Then you turned, and left the apartment. And that was it. After that day, you started to avoid going to Yuji's house a lot - settling for library or public places even. It was almost a week you haven't been to his house, and he called you for an emergency and you couldn't say no.

-------

You’d been there for twenty minutes, silently transferring files to Yuji’s newly-fixed laptop, and for twenty minutes - Sukuna had been a brooding statue in the doorway of his room. Watching.

Yuji had sensed the tension, and not wanting to be a part of it had excused himself to the bathroom. (it had been a solid 5 minutes and he wasn't back)

Sukuna made his way to the small fridge kept in the corner of the room, he took out a diet coke and placed the can right beside your elbow. You didn't look up from the screen- just kept typing.

"Your pen drive is slow." Sukuna commented, his voice harsh.

You kept typing, eyes focused on the screen. No reaction.

He shifted his weight,"Yuji's an idiot for corrupting the files."

No reaction.

Irritation - hot and quick flashed over his face. He took another step forward, almost too close to your laptop.

"Look at me."

His palm came over the lid of your laptop, closing it affirmatively. Slowly, you lifted your eyes from the closed laptop to his face. He was leaning over, his other hand braced on the table caging you in.

"Enough" he said.His voice was low,"You’ve been clicking that thing for an hour. Talk."

You looked at him, but didn't speak.

His jaw tightened with frustration,"I know you can speak. I’ve heard you. You had plenty to say last week."

You opened your laptop's lid again, fingers gently following their way onto the keyboard. His hand landed on your wrist.

You looked up again, this time agitated. The look of such searing, icy contempt it made him pause. "Move your hand" you said, your voice low and lethally calm.,"Or I will break every finger on it."

A wild, furious grin split his face. Finally. Fire,"You can try, sweetheart."

You shoved back immediately, sending your chair screeching andstood up facing him,"What do you want, Sukuna? A performance? Or do you want another slap? What's wrong with you?!"

"I want you to stop acting like I'm a ghost. I want you to look at me."

"Look at you?! All you do is cause trouble for me - what the fuck are you even about?! Go to your side chick or do you not have anyone else to both-"

"You think this is about Uraume?" His voice dropped. He took a step forward, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your glare,"You think I give a single, solitary fuck about her?"

The question hung in the air, honest and bewildering. Your furious words died in your throat. All the witty comebacks, all the practiced disdain - it evaporated. Because the look in his eyes wasn't defiance. It was a stark, frustrated confusion, as if you were the one being incomprehensible.

"Then what?" you shot back, the fight in your voice bleeding into pure exasperation. "What is this about? You break my things, you let your… your entourage mock me, and then you get angry when I don't want to play your twisted little game anymore? What do you want?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matched your own ragged breaths. The wild grin was gone. The fury had burned down to embers, leaving something hotter and more intent.

"I don't know" he said finally.

The simple, baffled truth of it disarmed you more than any threat ever could. The fight drained out of your shoulders, leaving you trembling with residual adrenaline and something else- something terrifyingly close to pity.

"You don't know" you repeated, your voice flat.

He shook his head, a minute frustrated gesture. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up. The air between you wasn't charged with anger anymore. It was charged with something else entirely.

"You look at me" he said, his voice rough, "and I don't know what you see. But it's the only thing I can think about. Your silence. Your… your disappointment?It's like a fucking noise in my head."

You could only stare, your ownanger morphing into a dizzying, breathless confusion. He was so close. You could see the faint scar through his eyebrow, the dark fringe of his lashes, the pulse hammering at the base of his throat. His hand slightly loosened around your wrist. He stepped forward again, closing the last inch of space like he couldn’t stand it anymore, like the distance itself had become unbearable.

You don't know who moved first. Maybe you swayed forward. Maybe he pulled. But suddenly - there was no space left. His mouth crashed down on yours. His hands came up to gently rest on your waist.

His mouth moved against yours in a desperate hunger, biting down on your lower lip. Your fingers, which had been fisted in his shirt, unclenched to slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to you tightly. Your knees felt weak - his tongue swapped against your lips - hot and wet seeking entry inside your mouth.

You broke apart with a gasp, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a split second before snapping. Both of you were panting, lips swollen, eyes wide and dazed with the same world-ending shock,"Oh, god" you whispered.

Yuji's eyes were wide, cheeks red as if he was in Sukuna's place instead - voice high pitched, as he stood in the hallway,