Crystalloversblog

The other one, the quiet one, tosses chips into the pot. "So what's the plan this time?"

"The mind stuff is done. That took a while, but pup's fully there. Knows what it is. Responds to commands, stays in pup-space for days at a time." He takes a pull of his beer. You hear the bottle hit the table a little too hard. Master gets like this when he's excited. When he's building toward something. His voice picks up speed, his hands move more. You've learned to read every one of his tells. Good pups pay attention. "But the body hasn't caught up yet."

"Meaning what?"

"Pup still cums like a person." He says it the way you'd say a dog still pulls on the leash. A behavior that hasn't been corrected yet. "Whenever it wants, however it wants. No structure. Pup thinks like a pup, but the body still operates on a human schedule."

The bearded one lets out a low whistle. Cards stop moving. "And you're going to fix that?"

"Exactly. We're restructuring when pup is allowed to cum. Ovulation only." A sip of beer. "Pup's body already has a heat cycle built in, it just needs a reason to use it." Another sip. "Deny it everywhere else, flood it during that window, and eventually the body figures out the rest." He leans back. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice. "Then pup goes into heat like an animal because pup is an animal."

"You're out of your mind," the beard says. But he's leaning forward. They're always leaning forward when master talks about you. "That can't actually work."

-----

The first month is the hardest because understanding something and living inside it are two very different things.

No cumming until ovulation. You understood the concept when he explained it. You nodded. You said yes, master. And then the reality of it started to settle in.

He pulls everything away. All at once. He doesn't fuck you. Doesn't finger you. Doesn't let you grind against his thigh while you watch TV, which had become such a habit that you didn't even register you were doing it until the night he caught your hips and said "no" and moved your body off of him like he was repositioning a dog that climbed onto furniture it wasn't allowed on.

Below the waist, you cease to exist for him, and by day five your body starts sending distress signals. You wake up grinding against the mattress, hips working on their own, chasing friction in your sleep. You clench your thighs together at dinner and he hears the shift of skin against skin and says "no" again without looking up from his plate. You stop because you always stop when he says stop, but your pussy is swollen and aching and confused. Pup's brain understands the program. Pup's pussy has no idea why it's being denied.

That's the gap he's closing. The distance between the animal mind and the animal body. And the bridge, it turns out, is built out of deprivation.

Two weeks in and your skin belongs to a stranger. Too sensitive. The shower is almost unbearable. Master's shirt against your nipples when he holds you is certainly unbearable. Every nerve ending is cranked to way too high a frequency, and the wet between your legs is constant plea that no one is answering

Then the calendar hits the window. Ovulation. Two, maybe three days.

He doesn't ease you into it.

He bends you over the kitchen counter the morning of and fucks you so hard spice jars rattle off the counter, shatter on the tile, and neither of you even flinch. You cum in under a minute. After two weeks of nothing, sixty seconds of his cock is all it takes. Shaking. Sobbing. Your pussy clamping down on him in contractions so hard it surprises even him. He grunts and grabs your hips and keeps going. He's not done.

You cum again. And again. He fucks you on the counter, the floor, the bed. He even eats you out on the couch while some show plays on the TV that neither of you will ever be able to name. You cum on his tongue and it drips down his chin. He looks up at you with his mouth glazed and smiles like you just performed a trick he's been waiting for you to learn his whole life.

For three days it's constant. He fucks you before work. Fucks you when he gets home. Wakes you up at 2 AM with his cock already nudging between your thighs, and you arch you ass into him before your eyes are open because your body doesn't need to be awake to know what this window is for. You're soaking, swollen, used in every direction, and deliriously, stupidly happy. Pup is getting what pup needs. The body and the brain, for the first time, are speaking the same language.

Then the window closes.

Everything stops.

No touch. No relief. You go from being fucked five times a day to absolute zero and your body screams. The comedown is so brutal you actually shake through the first night. But he's there to hold you and pet your hair and murmur, "I know it's hard pup, I know. We'll get through this together."

-----

The second month is when the pattern starts to print.

The weeks without touch are still hard, but something is shifting. Your body is beginning to understand the cycle the way an animal understands seasons. Instinctually. The drought has an end. You can feel it approaching the way you can feel the pressure change when a storm rolls in, this gathering tension in your lower belly that builds a little more each day.

You still soak through your underwear. You still catch yourself grinding against the arm of the couch without deciding to. But underneath the desperation there's a patience that wasn't there in month one. A trust that lives in your muscles. Pup will get to cum. Pup just has to be good and wait.

When ovulation hits the second time, you wake up flushed and burning. Your pussy is so wet the sheets are damp beneath you. Your nipples are hard and sore and everything smells like him. The whole apartment saturated with his scent in a way that you know is your brain chemistry doing something new, something animal, cataloguing the nearest male and flagging him as essential.

"There it is," he says that morning, watching you squirm at the breakfast table, your thighs pressed together, your fork halfway to your mouth and forgotten. "There's my pup."

Those words settle into your bones.

They stay there for the next three days while he breeds you. That's the only word for it now. Breeding. Purposeful and biological. His cock inside because this is when your body is ready and he's giving it what it needs. He cums inside you every time. Fills you up and plugs you with his fingers. Keeps you that way with your hips tilted, his cum pooling deep and staying there. You whimper and nuzzle into his neck and feel so full, so claimed, so perfectly kept that language starts to feel like a tool that belongs to a species you're not sure you're part of anymore.

-----

Month four.

You're getting into a rhythm. The first week of each cycle is calm. Manageable. You can work, cook, function, form complete sentences. You're still pup, but you're pup in maintenance mode, padding around the apartment, kneeling at his feet, sleeping at the foot of the bed. Quiet and content. The ache is there but it's low, a background hum you've learned to carry without it pulling you under.

Then the middle weeks.

The heat builds so gradually you almost don't notice until you're inside it. A warmth starts around day eight and spreads outward, a slow blush that moves through your body like ink dropped in water. By day ten your skin is sensitive enough that the wrong fabric makes you cry. By day twelve you're restless, circling the apartment, unable to settle, pressing your face into his pillow when he's not home and inhaling until your head swims. By day fourteen the wetness is constant and your clit is swollen enough that walking is a specific kind of torture. It's this hollow feeling inside you that deepens into something that borders on grief. Your body mourning an emptiness it's been trained to find unbearable.

Then the shift.

It happens overnight. You go to bed restless and wake up in heat.

Your skin is on fire. You're so wet you can feel it on your thighs before your feet touch the floor. It's an emergency and only master's cock can fix it. Your pussy keeps clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, trying to grip something that isn't there.

You find him in the kitchen. Press yourself against his back. You're panting. Your hips are grinding against him before you've said a word, your fingers clawing at his shirt, and you whine. High and thin and desperate. Animal sounds from an animal body that has finally, fully caught up to its animal brain.

"You need it bad, don't you, pup," he whispers. Turns around. Cups your face. Studies you with that calm, proprietary warmth that you'd do anything to keep directed at you.

He gives you what you need.

The breeding window is the only time you fully exist now. The weeks between have become a waiting room, a grey space you move through on autopilot, conserving energy for the days that matter. And when those days arrive your body ignites with a purpose so singular it burns everything else away. You fuck like it's the last weekend on earth. Ride him until your legs give out and then he flips you over and keeps going. You're drooling into the pillow, babbling, words fragmenting into sounds that can only mean: Breed me. Fill me. Please. Don't stop. I need it. I need it. I need it.

He tells his friends at the next poker night.

You're on the floor beside his chair. Cheek against his knee. Floating in that warm, post-window haze where the world feels soft and safe and very far away. His hand rests on your head.

"It's working," he says. "Better than I thought. You should see pup when the window opens. Full heat. Panting, whining, can't function until it gets fucked. I didn't even think it would take this completely, but pup's body just accepted the whole program."

Cards shuffle. They all laugh.

His fingers scratch behind your ear.

"Real proud of this one."

Your eyes close. He's proud of you and that pride lands somewhere deeper than any orgasm, deeper than the breeding, deeper than the three days of being so thoroughly filled that your brain dissolves. His pride is the bedrock. Everything else is built on top of it.

You press closer to his leg. He keeps petting you.

"Keep it up, pup."

-----

Month six.

Ovulation.

You wake up and the heat is so intense you can't stand. Not figuratively. Your legs won't hold you. Your whole body is trembling, flushed, slick between your thighs, and when you try to get up your knees buckle and you catch yourself on all fours and realize that this is correct. This is how pup moves when pup is in heat. Walking is for the other weeks. Walking is for the version of you that passes as a person. That version isn't home right now.

You crawl to him.

Down the hallway, hands and knees on the hardwood, the drag of your nipples against the oversized shirt you slept in sending sparks straight to your cunt with every movement. You're leaving a wet trail on the floor. You can feel it. You don't care.

He's in his office. He hears you coming. The chair pushes back from the desk.

He's waiting when you crawl between his legs. You press your face against his crotch and drool. He's already hard. He's learned your schedule as well as your body has. Probably woke up knowing today was the day. Probably drank his coffee thinking about what you'd look like crawling to him, and here you are, face buried in his lap, mouthing at his cock through his boxers, tasting him through the cotton, making sounds that would humiliate you in any other state of mind.

But you don't have another state of mind. You have this one. This singular, burning, wordless need that has scoured out every other thought and left only the essential thing: get bred. Get filled. Take his cum as deep as your body can hold it. That's all you are right now. That's all pup needs to be.

He unzips. Pulls you up into his lap. Sinks you down onto him.

The feeling of being full after weeks of emptiness hits so hard you cum before he moves. Instantly. Your pussy spasming around him in hard, greedy squeezes, your face buried in his neck, your whole body jerking and clenching while he holds you steady. He strokes your hair. Lets you shake and twitch and ride it out.

"It's okay, pup," he says. Soft. So soft. "I know. I know it's a lot. I've got you."

You cling to him and tremble and he hasn't even started fucking you yet.

When he does, when his hands grip your hips and start bouncing you on his cock, you understand that something has changed since last month. The conditioning has crossed a line you can't uncross. You're not performing. Not playing a role. Not thinking about what pup would do and then doing it. You're in heat the way an animal is in heat, mindless and desperate and single-purpose, and the only thought your brain can produce is one word on a loop. Breed breed breed breed breed.

He cums inside you and you feel every pulse, every hot thick pump, and your body seizes around him, pulling, milking, your walls working him with a greed that has nothing to do with your conscious mind. Your body knows what ovulation means now. Your body has been trained to understand this window as the only one that matters, and it is going to wring every drop out of him because that's what pup's body is for.

You stay on his cock until he's hard again. It doesn't take long. You're grinding on him, your pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, and he laughs against your throat. Breathless and amazed and a little bit awed by the thing he built.

"You're really in heat, huh."

You bark. It's the only answer you've got.

"Okay, pup. Okay. Let's take care of you properly."

He carries you to the bedroom.

“I got you a coffee,” you offered, your short little pencil skirt riding up your thighs as you chased after your boss through the lobby of his fancy office building in the center of the city. 

“Thanks,” he grinned at you, grabbing it just to place all the papers he’d been holding in your hands instead, pushing even more on top while you awkwardly opened and shut your mouth to stop yourself from saying anything. 

He took a small sip, scrunched his nose up while Toji struggled not to scoff out loud from where he was pretending to read a magazine in the corner next to the other waiting clients, all of them eagerly hoping to meet with the not-so-great Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not sweet enough,” Gojo criticized, masking his attitude with playfulness, acting like a child while you apologized to him as if you’d done something wrong by thinking of him. 

He wasn’t listening. Just kept moving towards the elevators, pulling his phone from his pockets to make a phone call to some other prick, probably. 

You scrambled behind him, folders stacked up in your arms, the coffee cup precariously balanced on top of the pile. 

God, what kind of fucking loser didn't carry his own stuff? 

His pretty little assistant he used more like a pack mule. 

It didn’t take long to find out your name. 

From there, everything else was easy. 

Finding out where you lived was as simple as following you from your car to your shitty little apartment, poorly paid and scraping by while your boss lived in his luxury penthouse on the opposite side of the city. Figuring out what foods you liked from what you spent too long looking at in the grocery store before you sighed and tossed a bag of rice in your cart instead. Snapping photos of you from afar like a fucking secret admirer through your window once you got back home, time stamped and saved to a special folder on his laptop, watching you shed your coat and clothes, trading them in for t-shirts and pajama pants. 

Toji wasn’t a stalker though.

Of course not. 

He was just doing what he was paid for. 

And what easier way was there to get to Gojo than through his cute, clueless assistant? 

You weren’t even aware when he trailed behind you on the street, head trained forward, always in a rush, scampering from place to place without stopping. Running errands for a man who couldn’t care less about you.

And in this city, you might be the only person as alone as him. 

Toji couldn’t put his finger on when studying you had become less of a chore and more of a habit. Day four? Week two?

Watching and waiting for the right time to approach? 

For all his expertise, his ability to move through the world unseen, unnoticed, it worked against him for once when you ran straight into him trying to leave your usual coffee shop, turning when he hadn’t expected it and smacking into his chest at full speed.

The coffee – something cold and sugary and sweet – splashed over both of you, your white shirt soaked through to see a pale pink bra underneath, your face flushing for the wrong reasons as you immediately started rattling off apologies.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to use the few napkins you grabbed to dab at his t-shirt, rubbing uselessly despite the fabric already being black. “I wasn’t paying attention, and-” 

“S’fine,” he grunted, yanking one from his hand to wipe off your shirt instead. 

You didn’t stop him. 

Just froze, standing completely still as he dragged the napkin over your chest while it heaved, listening to you suck in a sharp breath. 

When was the last time you’d even been intimate with a man if him cleaning your shirt had you practically pressing your thighs together in that prissy skirt of yours? 

Admittedly, there was a distinct disgust churning in him at the image of you being intimate with someone else, despite how quickly he rejected it.

It wasn't like you were more than a mark to Toji.

He squinted, eyes narrowing as his attention shifted to your face just to find you openly gawking at his broad chest, lips still parted mid-apology. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” you practically squeaked, looking up at all with big, surprised eyes.  

“Whatever,” he tch-ed, digging out his last ten dollar bill from his wallet and holding it out despite the urge to just toss it at you to see what you’d do. 

You shook your head, oblivious to the fact he was well-aware just how strapped to cash you really were, biting your bottom lip. “I can’t, I mean, that was really my fault, and-” 

“Don’t make me put it in your purse, doll,” he huffed at you, even if he almost said bra. Tempted to tuck it in, wondering if you’d let him. 

Did you even have it in you to stand up for yourself? 

How the hell did a pretty thing like you survive so long on your own like this? 

“A-are you sure?” You stuttered, glancing back over him again. 

His pride took a fucking hit at your uncertainty. 

Did he seriously look like he couldn’t spare a ten dollar bill? Was it the sweatpants? 

He showered this morning, bothered to spritz on cologne when he usually couldn’t give a shit. Toji ran his fingers through his hair, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed.

“You got a pen?” He grumbled, wagering that you definitely did. Maybe he hadn’t seen the inside of your purse, but he’d been watching you long enough to know what its contents were. 

In a not creepy way. 

“Yes?” You blinked, somehow cuter when you were confused. 

Still though, you were obedient, anticipating him asking for it and just digging it out from your bag to hand to him. The tip of it had been bitten, another little hint of how nervous you were by nature. 

He took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against your much softer ones, a jolt of electricity traveling up his arm at the simple touch, the soft way your breath paused. You had to feel it too. 

Toji scribbled his number down. 

His personal cell. 

You were beaming before he even finished writing the last number, standing up straighter, sticking your chest out more. 

“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he grunted, giving you the pen before the dollar, holding it out over your head, your stare flickering from his face to the money. “Text me.” 

He wanted you to reach for it. 

To chase him. 

But three more days passed – and he hadn’t heard a peep. 

Toji knew what you were up to, tracking you instead of his target, taking notes on everything you did instead of texting him. You stared at your phone at home though, left the dollar bill sitting on your kitchen counter, running your fingers over his writing as if you weren’t sure what to do. 

He supposed he’d have to help you figure it out then. 

Especially considering Shiu was starting to get on his ass about getting the job done. 

Because that was what this was supposed to be about – a means to an end. 

Faking a name tag was easy. Digging up the old utility overalls he’d seen some of the other maintenance workers wear at your office, the sort of position no one ever paid any mind to until they were needed for something. He didn't get much sleep, trading in his night shift watching you go to sleep for snooping around your office. And in the morning, after going back to his car to put on some cologne, he walked back in through the lobby like he was supposed to be there, not even getting courtesy nods from your coworkers. 

Toji had memorized your schedule. 

So he knew to be in the third floor break room at ten, pretending to fix something in the ceiling when you walked in to make a cup of coffee. 

For yourself this time. 

He was climbing down from the ladder he stole from a storage closet when you sighed and started cleaning up the mess the last person had left by the coffee machine. You didn’t notice, didn’t even turn until you went to grab a mug from the shelf, frowning when you realized they had all been moved to the top shelf. 

A nice touch, in his opinion.  

Setting everything up to be the one to take care of it for you, stepping behind you, close enough for you to feel his chest on your back as he reached up to get it for you. 

“Here,” he grumbled, and you slowly spun around to face him. 

Stuck between his sturdy body and the cold counter, frozen in surprise at him being here. He wondered if you’d be scared, suspicious. 

It was funny to watch you get so flustered instead, completely frazzled as you tried to find the words to say. 

“Um, you, uh, work here?” You finally managed, and he just raised a brow, the scar over his mouth twitching as he gestured towards the name tag on his belt. 

You blushed again, your attention drifting to something else by it, the bulge he hadn't meant to be sporting. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, a low drawl that made you smile at him. 

It was sunny. You were. Bright, not bitter. Absolutely unaware that the world revolved around you. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, even though you had no actual reason to. Maybe for not messaging him back. Maybe for stealing glances at his dick. 

He paused, a weird strained feeling taking over his chest, constricting his lungs when you tilted your head to the side. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” you added, holding your breath. 

“I’ve seen you,” he shrugged, and your entire face practically lit up at the idea someone had been paying attention to you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to stifle it. To keep it contained, to make yourself smaller in front of him, like he wouldn’t like you if you weren’t soft-spoken. 

“Do you think you could take a look at the phones in my office? Well, Mr. Gojo’s,” you corrected yourself, toying with your fingers before cringing. “Only if you're available, of course. I put in a ticket but-”

“Sure,” he grunted. 

As long as the actual maintenance guy didn’t come, you’d never know the difference. After all, that was why he’d broken in last night. Disconnecting the phones himself, creating a couple issues with a few of the computers in the sales team downstairs that the real department would be too busy to handle any of your problems. If you ever pieced together he didn’t actually work there, it wouldn’t be until long after he was gone.

He'd prefer it if you never knew any better. 

And Shiu never said he couldn’t have some fun first. 

He followed you back to your office, not hiding his stare, enjoying how you were already squirming, nervously shifting and looking over your shoulder at him every few feet. 

“You didn’t have to do it now,” you mumbled, embarrassed, but he shrugged. 

Rolling his shoulders back to remind you how broad they were, catching the flash of you biting your lip before you faced forward again. 

Everything about you was far more fucking adorable than it had any right to be. 

Toji had never really gotten the appeal of stuffed animals. He never had any when he was a kid. No softness, no warmth, nothing small and sweet to hug. But you reminded him of one.

Or maybe that was just the urge to pick you up and squeeze you hard. 

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” He gruffly asked, gesturing ahead as you hit the button for the elevator to take you both to the top floor. 

“They just ring, and um, nothing happens,” you tried to explain, smoothing down your skirt self-consciously. 

He nodded, like he knew what the problem could be, and he did, actually. Because he caused it. 

The elevator doors opened, thankfully empty. There was something annoying about the idea of sharing you – even for a minute. 

Toji told himself that you were just less irritating than other people. That it had nothing to do with you in particular, just how disgusting the rest of the world was. 

But he was still observing how you pushed the button, how quickly you went back to fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles. Clasping your hands in front of you, maybe just remembering the fact you forgot your coffee back in the break room. Left it by the pot you brewed, your lip gloss staining the rim from the single sip you'd taken and the drink inside growing cold. 

Did you confess? 

Admit you wanted to go back and grab it? 

Nope. 

He knew you wouldn’t. All that meant was another excuse to go back and get it for you himself, maybe make you a fresh one to cement his spot in your good graces, to get your guard down. 

The elevator dinged, opening up to wooden floors and soft lighting. Wall art he had briefly contemplated stealing the night before, although he skipped since it’d be a bitch to sell. 

Besides, he’d have more than enough money to cover anything he wanted to buy soon enough. 

“Um, the phone’s over here,” you shyly said, leading him over to your desk. 

Toji nodded, a low grunt of acknowledgement leaving his throat while he pretended to work on it, messing around with cables. 

You were watching him, taking your seat and clicking away on your keyboard despite your eyes constantly flickering over to his. 

He pretended he didn’t notice. Setting his jaw in a firm line while he unplugged stuff just to put it in different outlets. He considered tapping the lines, just to listen in to whatever you were saying during the day, but then he'd have to justify that expense to Shiu, and he really didn’t fucking feel like getting a lecture. 

His handler would tell him just to take out the target already. Stop wasting his time getting close to a liability. 

But of all the risks Toji had taken, you were the easiest one of all.

Would you let him find an excuse to get under your desk? Maybe catch a peek at whatever pair of panties you picked out today? 

Your personal phone rang – and you were scrambling to pick it up and answer. 

“Hello?” Your voice lilted up, all pure and sweet, and Toji immediately loathed whoever you were addressing. 

It wasn’t anything he could control, just instinctual irritation, a cheese grater to his patience watching you sit up straighter in your chair while you listened to whoever was on the other end. 

“Of course, sir,” you chirped. He had to stop himself from snapping the cord he was holding when he caught how you were subtly twirling your hair. Glancing down at your lap and sucking in a sharp breath before you mumbled, “Sorry, Satoru.” 

Toji had to look down to make sure he didn't somehow electrocute himself when the edges of his vision tinged with red, annoyance rolling into a tight ball of anger. The hard kind that couldn't crack, just rolled around in the pit of his stomach, demanding something be done about it. 

“Okay, see you in thirty.” You smiled. A soft one, biting it back before plastering a practiced expression of professionalism, probably remembering Toji was still here. 

He scowled at the realization Gojo coming back meant he should probably skip bringing you that coffee. Didn't want to risk running into him too soon. 

You hung up, and he shoved the last cord back in the correct place. 

“Try now,” he growled, picking the phone up from the receiver and passing it to you.

You took it from him, your fingertips brushing against his again, all gentle as you cradled it between your shoulder and ear, nails clicking on the keypad. Relief flooded your face when it worked, looking up at him like you were thankful. 

Gratitude wasn't something Toji knew how to receive. 

He was used to the exchange of cash, of cold demands that ended in death. Your warmth was alien. 

What had a guy like Satoru Gojo ever done to deserve it? 

Was this jealousy? Bitter and begging to be addressed, his skin itching at imagining the man getting your company all day long, having you at his beck and call. 

Whatever it was, Toji was going to fucking squash it. 

“Thank you, it was really nice of you-”

“What are you doing after work?” He interrupted before you could finish rambling, making all the reasons why you were easy to take advantage of excruciatingly obvious. You were too sweet. Too nice. Acting like he was a saint for fixing your phone, unaware he was the sinner who broke it to begin with. Who'd break your boss too, the second he got the chance. 

“Um, nothing?” You blinked. Your lips were still parted, but you didn't say anything. 

“Wanna grab drinks?” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Toji wanted to lean across the desk, put his palm flat on top of your useless papers and peek at your cleavage, but you were the sort that scared easily. 

The confusion on your face was cute. 

“Like, as coworkers?” You were clueless. “Are other people coming or-” 

Did you seriously fucking think you were just getting left out of some after work hangout? 

“Like a date,” he clarified, struggling not to contain his urge to bend you over your desk and show you just how not-platonic his interest was. 

“With me?” 

You were gawking, but there was an unmistakable air of giddiness to your face, a grin you couldn't suppress even under all that shock. 

“Did I stutter, doll?” Toji gruffly said, walking around your desk until your eye level was at his mid-riff. Your hand tightened around the armrest, slowly dragging your stare up like you could see the truth in his face. 

“Um, sure,” you nodded, still unsure of how serious he was. “If you want to.” 

“I want you,” he easily shrugged, making his point clear. 

He wasn't delicate. Wouldn't skirt around shit like your Satoru did. Being blunt was the only way to get it through that pretty skull of yours anyway. 

“I'll be waiting for you out front at six.” That was when you usually scampered out anyway, frazzled and exhausted from handling a man child's chores all day. 

“Okay,” you spoke softly, betraying your feelings by covering your mouth with your hands, hiding a smile behind them. 

He turned to leave, but he kept his eyes on you all the way to the elevator. 

You watched him too. He might have a job to do. 

Toji was just going to fuck you first. 

Was this how it felt to have a crush? 

Well, one that wasn’t hopeless and unattainable? 

You’d been wasting years wishing Satoru noticed you. And in a matter of days, someone else had snuck up on you. A spilled coffee. A phone number. And now, a date. 

When was the last time you'd even been on one? 

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror, fingers working to undo another button of your shirt and hike up your skirt a little higher. Half of you was disappointed that he hadn't asked you out on a different night, or given you enough time to go home and get changed into something a little more sexy and less like you just stepped out of an investor meeting. 

But the rest of you was just glad he wanted to go out with you at all. 

You tried to tell yourself you had less time to overthink this way. That you wouldn't be distracted for days until the date, waiting for him to cancel. 

But when you walked out of the building at six, leaving a sticky note for Satoru whenever he stepped out of his office letting him know you couldn’t stay late tonight, Toji was true to his word, waiting for you in a beat-up black car. 

It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t shiny and freshly glossed like Satoru’s, but it looked fast. His window was rolled down, his arm resting on it while his defined jaw unclenched at the sight of you standing there and staring. 

“You comin’?” 

Was it wrong to hope he’d make sure you did by the end of the night? 

You scampered over, glancing around to see a few of your coworkers looking your way before you pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. His eyes raked over you, that white scar that ran across the corner of his lips twitching up as he smirked. 

He was broader than Satoru, stockier. All muscles, all man. 

His dark hair was shaggy, not carefully styled, his sturdy fingers running through it as he measured you the same way you measured him. He must’ve gone home and changed, in a dark shirt that clung to his chest, made you take note of his biceps bulging underneath his sleeves, probably big enough to make them burst if he strained hard enough. Wearing jeans, no name tag hanging on his belt now. 

But you already memorized his name. 

Toji. 

It had been on the forefront of your thoughts all day, right there with the rest of his words. He saw you. He wanted you. 

Invited you out like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

You were so distracted by, well, everything about him that you forgot to buckle your seatbelt until he stretched across the center console and did it for you. There was something kinda funny about a gruff guy like him taking care of something so small like that for you, grunting under his breath as it clicked into place. 

Maybe just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you again. 

You didn’t mind. 

His attention was nice. 

You didn’t know what to say though, awkwardly glancing between him and outside the window, wondering what a typical conversation looked like on a first date. 

“So, um, do you like your job?” You heard yourself ask, almost immediately wishing you hadn’t just from his soft scoff, the subtle arch of his thin brow while he pulled out onto the road. 

“It pays the bills,” he shrugged, and you tried to nod sympathetically. You were about to spout out something polite, but then he opened his mouth to talk again, giving you that dangerous bit of side eye that made your heart skip a beat. “But it ain’t so bad. Gotta meet you because of it, didn’t I, doll?” 

And there it was again.

Doll. 

Satoru sometimes called you sweetheart, but that didn’t send a shiver down your spine, didn’t have that low rumble to it that gave you goosebumps. When he said it like that, you wouldn’t really mind being a pretty toy for him to play with. 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, blushing hard as you tried to swallow your anxieties. 

You were overworked. Exhausted. Barely making it by on caffeine and four hours of sleep most days. But you were here. In a hot guy’s car being flirted with on the way to a bar. 

He briefly looked at you before turning back to face the road, but you could see the satisfaction in the crook of his smile. 

“Relax a little, baby,” he hummed, reaching over – and for a second, you thought he was going to grab your thigh. You hadn’t realized it was hope until he just turned up the radio instead. But with a second flash of that scar and that smirk, you were smiling back at him. “We’re gonna have fun tonight." 

It still took two glasses of wine for you to start to unwind, a pleasant buzz floating around in your chest, coloring your world in warm hues as he leaned in next to you, his barstool dragged close enough for his muscled thigh to be constantly brushing against yours. A massive palm casually resting on your side, pulling you in every time someone got into what could be considered your personal space. 

He didn’t talk about himself. 

Or that much, really. 

He’d ask a few questions, then let you ramble. Sometimes, his expression would shift, his harsh and blunt edges softening when you talked about the future, about how you wanted to quit someday, find a job that wouldn’t burn you out. But it hardened a few times too, scowling when you mentioned Satoru, glaring when a drunk guy bumped into you. 

And yeah, you got it. Your boss was a bit of an…acquired taste. 

It didn’t surprise you that he managed to piss off one of his employees, especially when you spent most of your days cleaning up the messes he made. 

“When did you start?” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject back to him. To get to know him properly. To be the best date you could be – or at least good enough that he might want to take you home. 

“A while ago,” he shrugged, another vague answer as he polished off the last of his whiskey. 

He didn’t even seem buzzed. 

“I feel like an idiot for not noticing you there before,” you admitted, tugging down the hem of your skirt self-consciously, shyly looking up to meet his open stare. 

“S’fine,” he grunted, unbothered. 

You didn’t know what to make of him past the fact he was ridiculously attractive. 

Toji was abrasive. The rough side of the sponge scraping up your silverware, the hard counter edge you bumped into when you weren't expecting it, the sharp rock that sliced open the soles of your feet when you forgot to wear shoes outside. But being around him left you hoping to get cut by him. Fingers crossed that he’d be interested enough to peel you apart and stay long enough to stitch you back together – even if it was sloppy.

After being surrounded by people who only ever plastered on fake smiles and feigned politeness, he felt like the first breath of fresh air you had in forever. Something raw and real in a world full of plastic. 

He wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect. 

But you’d never been either. And you were tired of pretending and playing along. 

You took another long sip of your wine, the last drop lingering on your tongue as you pushed your empty glass forward too. 

He chuckled, almost appreciatively. Snagging the drinks menu and sliding it back over to you, letting his fingers linger on top of it like he wanted to remind you how large they were. 

“Pick your poison.” 

“I think I should probably get a water,” you murmured, a little worried he might think that was lame. 

He ordered you one anyway though, chuckling when you wiped away the ring of condensation from the counter after they took your glass away.

“Don’t wanna get drunk with me?” He taunted, butterflies in your stomach fluttering when he cocked his head to the side. “I’m hurt.” 

He wasn’t, not really. But you got the feeling he liked teasing you. 

“I just don’t wanna think this was all a dream tomorrow,” you laughed, forcing it to sound lighter than it really was. You really just refused to let yourself get so wasted that you might black out an entire date or embarrass yourself in front of him. 

His eyes narrowed, like he was the one that couldn’t discern if you were being serious. 

“You callin’ me dreamy?” He dryly mocked, and that pretty jaw of his clenched, like it was a joke.

“I mean, it’s just kind of hard to believe a guy like you wants to go out with someone like me,” you murmured, offering a small smile to the bartender when he pushed a glass of water over to you. 

“A guy like me?” He challenged, and you cringed at your ability to stick your foot in your mouth. You didn’t know if you actually offended him, if that was even possible, but you slipped your hand over his.  

“Y’know,” you drawled, tracing your fingertips over his veins, holding your breath. “Attractive and-”

He snorted.  

“So what does that make you?” He raised a question you’d never really been able to answer. There were labels you assigned yourself, but all those really amounted to was what roles you played for other people. 

Lately, all you felt like was Satoru’s assistant. 

Barely your own person. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just me?” 

“I like you,” he easily said.

“You don’t know me,” you pointed back out, bringing your water glass up to your lips to take a sip. Maybe he thought you were pretty. Maybe you’d caught his eye. But there was a difference in that and knowing what your favorite-

“You stay late even when you’re exhausted. You think of everyone else when no one gives a shit. Show up with coffee and pastries for other people when you can barely afford to pay for your parking pass. You never take your lunch break-” He was listing facts like he was bored, proving his point with the overhead lights glittering back in his green eyes. You almost choked on your water, and he slipped his hand out from your other one to drag his thumb over your lips. 

It felt scandalous. Like he was just waiting to commit some grave sin with how slowly he brushed it over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make you wonder what his mouth would feel like, how his taste would compare to his touch. 

But then he let go, dropped his hand down just to make you miss it. 

“You kinda sound like a stalker,” you giggled, unable to stop yourself from grinning at being seen. 

There was some faint alarm bell you knew should be ringing, but your head had been emptied out to make room for more thoughts of him. 

He chuckled, and your chest tightened. 

“What’d you think I was giving you my number for?” He sarcastically asked, dark eyes narrowing under the dim lighting as he brought his own glass up to his lips. 

You stifled another smile. “To pay for my shirt?”

“I was thinkin’ about getting you out of it.”

Toji was shameless. 

And every flirt, every searing gaze of his that stuck to your skin and stoked that fire in your stomach? You were falling for it. For him. 

Would you be a whore for sleeping with him on the first date? 

Maybe, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it mattered. 

You were about to suggest maybe returning to your apartment, but your phone started vibrating, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your disappointment. 

“Hold on one second?” You nervously asked, and he nodded.

“Sure,” he barked, all gravelly, not helping the simmering heat still burning under your skin. You pulled your phone out, glancing around the bar for some semi-quiet spot to take the call. 

You settled on a hallway that led to the bathrooms, heels clicking on the floor as you hurried over, grateful that Toji had chosen a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, one that wasn’t packed with people to navigate through. 

“Hello?” Your voice waivered, face flushing at the mental image of what your boss was probably doing on the other end. Scowling down at the note you left him? 

“The hell are you?” Satoru whined on the other end, apparently not happy at your absence. 

“I’m on a date,” you whispered back into the speaker, just for him to scoff back. The sound of it, even tinny and crackling through the line, fucking stung. 

As if it was actually so absurd that you could be with someone. 

“I need you here,” he huffed. “We’re supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s meetings.”

You tapped your foot, glancing back to the end of the hallway, picturing Toji sitting on the stool waiting for you. 

“I already prepared all your slideshows. Anything you need should already be labeled and on your desk,” you muttered, doing your best to still sound professional. Collected. Calm. Put-together instead of just a weak-willed pushover. 

Toji wasn’t wrong. You spent all your time thinking of Satoru when he really couldn’t care less. You were just convenient to him. That was what he paid you to be. 

“I can’t find it,” he grumbled. Lied. 

“I also emailed everything to you,” you added, and he didn’t bother to hide his whine of annoyance. 

Irritated that you had a life outside of him. That your existence wasn’t solely devoted to making his easier. 

“Who are you even ditching me for?” Satoru was pouting. You could hear it in his voice.

“If you really must know, he works in the maintenance department and-” 

He laughed at you. 

“Leave that loser.” 

Was that what he thought? That the best you could get was a fucking loser?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Satoru.” You hung up on him. Slipped your phone back in your purse, looking up just to see Toji leaning against the wall across from you. 

Startled, you stepped back, blinking and trying to figure out how someone as big and broad as him managed to sneak up on you.

“He botherin’ you?” Toji grunted, gesturing towards your purse.

“No, um, just work stuff,” you lied. 

You didn’t want to tell him the CEO of the company basically called him a loser. It felt mean, and you were worried he’d somehow think you shared the same impression. 

“Yeah?” He angled his head down to look at you, and his proximity made your pulse race, wild thumps roaring in your head as he took two steps closer. 

“I hung up on him,” you admitted, even though he hadn’t asked. Feeling bold just by being with him, as if you were already getting away with something. 

“You wanna give me all that attention instead, baby?” His voice was deep, a gruff purr that had you nodding. 

Your obedience earned a pleased hum. 

And even better, a kiss. 

The kind that knocked the air from your lungs, his calloused hands cupping your face as he claimed your lips for himself. You kissed him back just as hard, craning your neck up into it, tethering your fingers through his dark locks while you sucked on his lower lip. 

He tasted like whiskey. But his lips were soft enough to make you overlook the feeling that came with wondering if this was a mistake. 

If Satoru would fire you for wanting to get fucked instead of running back to fuss over him. 

Toji wasn’t the sort of guy who’d let you linger on silly worries though. No, his canines were already tugging at you, nipping at the spots you’d bitten out of stress, one of his rough palms travelling down your body, settling on your waist to pull you flush against his hard body. 

You wanted to touch him. 

To pull off his shirt and trace your fingers over all his muscles, map them out and drag your tongue over them. His was busy, already in your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp when his grip on your side suddenly squeezed tight. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, an intangible thread in your stomach pulling taut at the sound. 

He dragged you back inside the bathroom, the employee one, like he wanted the thrill of fucking you in public with less of a risk of being walked in on. 

It was sleazy.

But the exhilaration of his hand now on your hip, the way his fingers dug in and wrinkled your skirt as he pulled you through the door, your back being pushed against the cold sink as his mouth latched onto your throat next, it outweighed any rational thought your brain could conjure up. 

You wanted him. 

The world could wait. 

This was more real than anything else your reality had to offer. His tongue licking a clean line up from your collarbone to your jaw, going back to leave messy hickies, claiming you as his. For tonight, at least. 

Hopefully longer. 

But you kept that thought to yourself, only letting small whines escape as his hand ventured under your skirt, toying with your panties underneath, slipping two fingers underneath it, testing how much the band could give. 

You didn’t want to scare him off. Push him away before he'd even put his dick inside you. 

He seemed like he specialized in one-night-stands. Like he was used to getting who he wanted when he wanted. And really, you were just so fucking sick of being single. 

Of being lonely. 

The hand that had still been on your face moved back, suddenly cradling the back of your neck, squeezing enough to make your head tilt back and give him easy access to more of you. 

There was a vulnerability to it, letting him sink his teeth into your throat, marking you up enough that the bruises would bleed through your concealer tomorrow.

But then Toji was tearing your panties off, easily rolling the flimsy fabric that you truthfully paid too much for, shoving what was left of it in his pocket before prying your thighs apart. 

You spread them further, your lungs freezing half-full of air as you watched him drag his eyeline down to your exposed cunt, already embarrassingly wet after just a couple hours spent in his company. 

He hiked your skirt higher, appreciatively admiring it, clicking his tongue as he shoved a thick finger inside you. Clearly, he’d taken note of how much you noticed them. 

You were gasping before he even made it down to the knuckle. Eyes widening, your hands immediately shifting to claw at his shoulder blades for some stability when you tried to contain your reaction. 

But Toji wasn’t going to let that slide. Refused to let you hide every lewd reflex – shoving another finger inside to join the first just to force out a strangled moan at the feeling of him stretching you open. 

Scissoring you at a tempo that bordered on lethal, only pausing his onslaught of kisses to watch your face when you said his name, all pitchy, almost pathetic. Putty for him with just a couple fingers. 

“Ya’ like that, pretty?” He grumbled, fraying with impatience, already itching to add another – or maybe trade his fingers out for something bigger. 

“Mm, mhm,” you murmured, nodding as you reclined your head back, the cold edge of the counter digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him just to make you jolt again at the next pump of his fingers. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from me then, doll?” He dared, his eyes dark, his lips pulled into a thin line as you shook your head the other way. 

The intensity he came with was a double-edged sword. Drawing you in one second and threatening to spear you the next. Chasing the high of being fucked full just to run from the burn, the stretch, the pleasure when he pushed you right on the edge of a cliff the next. Finding yourself teetering a tightrope you never meant to walk on. 

“S’too-” You sounded slurred, even though the only thing you really felt drunk on was him. 

“Hm?” He waited for you to finish, stalling his next thrust with his fingers buried deep enough to reach a spot that was a little too sensitive, knowingly swirling against it while you squirmed. 

You were a wreck and he hadn’t even managed to make you cum yet. 

The too much that had been about to leave your lips replaced with a desperate plea for more. 

Your skin was hot, sweat sticking to your brows as he dug his fingers deeper, felt the sinful way you squeezed them, panting as tears started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

There was no running. Being spread and stuffed on a bathroom sink by a handsome man who might as well be a stranger, fingers poking and prodding at all your sensitive spots, readjusting his hand so his thumb could rub over your clit.

“Thought you had something to say?” He wryly mocked, and you were pretty positive you’d forgotten everything except his name. 

“T-Toji,” you whined, body stuck, all your muscles wound too tightly, hips arching up to meet his hand.

He kissed you again, harder, rougher. Crashing into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, lost between him and the pleasure, being tossed around with each thrust of his fingers. Climaxing without even meaning to, not even a conscious choice, just being pulled into the motions as he massaged rough circles over your needy bud. 

And then you were sucking in air, his fingers pulling back out with a filthy pop! before he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste. Sucking on them and groaning at the second-hand flavor of you on his tongue. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” 

You should’ve known making you cum once wouldn’t satisfy him. 

Or twice. 

He had you up against the wall of his shower, your face pressed against the cool tile as his hips smacked against your ass, pounding into it as he continued to leave more hickies. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he grunted, his thick cock throbbing inside you, swollen tip nudging and grinding against your cervix like he owned it. Dragging himself along your walls, making sure you felt every vein, every ridge, warm water pelting both your bodies. “Look how good you're takin’ me.” 

His hand ran over the curve of your ass, softly patting it. It wasn’t a spank, but you wanted it to be. 

You shivered as he bottomed back out, leaning against him, mostly held up by him by now. “M-more.” 

“Greedy fucking girl,” he chuckled, but his voice was raspy too, running his hand back over your ass. “You want me to spank you?” 

You nodded, embarrassed to admit it. 

“Say it,” he groaned, and you squeaked. Surprised at the sudden stall of his cock, feeling yourself squeezing and squirming for him to keep going. 

“Please?” 

His hand came down, leaving a harsh smack that made you clench around him more, a moan escaping that echoed in the cramped space. 

Toji rubbed back over it, his fingers still damp, murmuring something low you couldn't make out under the shower running. But then he was back to thrusting, faster now, like he wasn't finished imprinting the shape of him into you. 

It was all moans, all skin-on-skin, lewd sounds and heavy pumps, his strokes only getting sloppier when his hand slipped over your clit. Intent on making you cum for him again, his jaw clenched when you tensed up. Planting kisses up your throat, teeth marking you with an unspoken mine when you shuddered and finished, white splotching across your vision as your limbs threatened to go limp. 

Toji pulled out, finishing on your back just for the water to wash his cum away. Down the drain with the soap suds. 

He whispered your name into your neck, soft lips tracing back over the mess of hickies he'd left. You were in a haze, brain foggy and chest still full even after your cunt was empty again, leaning against him when he cleaned you up. 

You never would’ve guessed he used the same brand of shampoo or conditioner as you. It was funny how many products you mutually had. Even the hand soap was a familiar bottle, new too, hardly used. 

He dried you off with a patchy towel, wrapping it around you and shutting off the shower. Pulling you back to his bed, half-made navy blankets in a mostly-barren room. The lamp by his bed was crooked, but there wasn't all that much personal stuff laying around. No posters decorating his wall. 

Nothing else to learn about him from his possessions. 

“Tired?” He grumbled, tossing you a t-shirt of his. 

“Mhm,” you yawned, dropping the towel to pull it over your head. No panties, but you figured you didn't really need any to sleep in anyway. 

You still felt nervous getting into his bed, waiting for him to get in with you. He hesitated, staring at you strangely before he grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled them up his thick thighs. 

Toji got in next to you, stiff, awkward, before holding out his arm, like he was waiting for you to snuggle up beside him. 

Maybe he wasn't as much of a man whore as you initially thought. 

He was acting new to this, holding his breath when you scooted closer, laying your head on his arm. 

You wondered if he’d ever been soft before. If he was capable of it.  

Even now, you were left with the vague impression this…tenderness wasn’t exactly that. An impression. A mask, maybe, something he wasn't used to wearing.  

But the afterglow was warm. Wrapped in the heat his body radiated, his strong arms sheltering you from the rest of the world as you sighed in contentment, resting on his bicep as you looked up at him. 

Your phone started buzzing inside your purse on the floor, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

“Sometimes I wish he’d just fucking disappear,” you mumbled, sighing as you tried to push off his chest to answer it. 

“Stay,” he growled, grabbing your waist to keep you in place. 

You pressed your palm flat against him, pushing your lips together in a pout. “I have to answer him.” 

Or he’d throw a fit and make tomorrow hell for you. 

Toji begrudgingly let you get up, glaring when you bent over to fish your phone from your bag, his scar twitching down as he frowned. “You ever think you’d be better off if he dropped dead?” 

You laughed, staring at the name on the screen as you shrugged.

“All the time.” 

You were trouble. 

Fucking you was supposed to make it easier. Satisfy the stupid urges he’d been plagued with since he saw your face. Since he heard your voice and felt your fingers on his skin. 

Instead, it sealed his fate. 

Yours too. 

Because laying in bed the morning after, watching the subtle rise-and-fall of your chest, finding himself tracing shapes on your skin for the excuse to keep touching you, a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t snuff out was suffocating him. 

Smothered in the scent of soap and sex and your sweet perfume. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, sighing at the way his heart beat faster every time you tossed and turned. 

How long had it been since he slept next to someone? 

Shared more than a fast fuck? A quick make-out session that never made him feel anything? 

He snuck out of bed first, readjusting your head to rest on the pillow and pulling up his blanket to cover you before he caught himself. 

What the hell was he doing? 

You weren’t his girlfriend. 

But maybe you could be. If he played his cards correctly. 

And really, was there anything better than making a bet he knew he’d win?

He found his phone in his jeans, a few missed calls from Shiu waiting. He deleted them. Walked out into the kitchen, opening the door to his mostly-empty fridge, staring at the eggs in there, the few cans of energy drinks, before moving to the pantry. There wasn’t much there either. Rice. Ramen. 

Stuff for a single guy who didn’t give a shit about taking care of himself. 

“What’re you doing?” You yawned behind him, all sleepy and sweet, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see you walking over, clutching his blanket to your chest.

“Lookin’ for something to make you breakfast,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. 

You giggled, like it was fucking cute. 

“Got any coffee?” 

He made it a week of pretending to be a normal guy in a normal relationship before the fractures started forming. 

Donning his fake uniform and driving you to work and to your place, narrowly avoiding being spotted by your boss and undermining all those pesky security systems to set up for what he was really planning. Using a couple of his contacts to get his hands on something that couldn’t be traced back to him. Moving all the pieces into place while playing boyfriend. 

He might’ve dragged it out longer – went another few days, pushed back Gojo’s death date again – but Shiu wouldn’t shut up. 

Toji was supposed to be waiting for you outside, wishing for a cigarette and reading your message that your boss was making you help him with one last thing then you’d be down to get lunch with him when his own handler called. 

“The hell is taking so long?” Shiu scoffed over the phone, almost as annoyed as he felt. 

“Covering our fuckin’ asses,” he growled back. 

There was no way he was risking his fucking neck this time. He wasn’t going to jail for this shit – and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you either. 

“The client expects this done-” 

“I’m handling it,” Toji interrupted him, a gruff growl from the back of his throat.

He had the stuff with him, everything he needed to make you his – and send Satoru Gojo to an early grave. 

“Take care of it.” 

Shiu hung up on him. 

The soles of his boots were heavy on the ground, tapping his foot as he checked the time again. Two more minutes, and he'd call you. The seconds tended to drag by without you there. 

He heard your voice, faint, still far away, but he turned anyway. 

You were walking out the main doors of the building, Gojo walking close behind you, his brows drawn tightly together, scolding you. He grabbed your wrist, but you shrugged him off, Toji’s blood boiling at how handsy that asshole was, touching something that didn't belong to him. 

All the stares of people passing by, coworkers or not, shifted towards the two of you. 

Your sad little pout, your chest puffed out and trying to stand straight, while he glared at you. 

“Maybe I should just fire you,” Gojo scoffed at you, and you flinched. Toji could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, fist clenching while you did your best to bite your tongue. 

But then you surprised him – and Gojo – by beginning to speak up, “I’m-” 

“You’re replaceable.” 

Your face crumpled at how sharply he cut you off. Struggling not to cry, to hold yourself together while he turned on his heel and stormed back inside. Other people pretended to not be eavesdropping, avoiding eye contact when you walked away. Head hanging low, rubbing your eyes, barely paying attention to where you were going until he caught you. 

You didn't even say anything when Toji pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you against him as you automatically hid your face in his chest. 

He was shit at comforting people. Had never really known what to say. How to make anyone feel better. 

But you didn't seem to mind, a few muffled sobs snuffed out when your mouth was pressed against his broad muscles.

“H-he said he’s gonna-” You tried to choke out, but Toji just softly patted your head.

“Don't worry about him,” he grunted. 

He wouldn't be alive long enough to actually fire you. 

Toji didn't say that though. He let you cry in his car, listened to you vent about your latest argument, wiped away some of your tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. 

And when your break ended, and you were supposed to go back to finish off your shift, he walked back in with you. Made up some excuse about putting off taking care of the next maintenance ticket, like he hadn't already disabled all the cameras in the building earlier. 

Usually, he preferred a bullet and brute force. Didn't see the point in a delicate touch and careful preparations. But he'd make an exception for you. 

This one time. 

“I think I'm gonna make him some coffee,” you murmured, still sniffling as you grabbed the stuff you needed for it. 

Like it would be a truce instead of a death sentence. 

You didn't know any better. Just scurried around the break room, not noticing when he poured a little packet of powder into the cup the moment your back was turned. 

“You’re too good for him.” 

You glanced back at Toji, smiling even though it didn't reach his eyes. Not really believing it, but still appreciating the sentiment. 

“You're probably the one person that thinks that.”

You picked up the cup of coffee, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in, enough to cover the slightly bitter powder. You even snagged a can of whipped cream from the fridge, swirling it on top as if your efforts would be appreciated. 

Two birds. One stone. 

Or really, two fools and one cup of coffee. That was all it'd take for you to be his and both your problems to be solved. 

And if it didn't?

Well, his gun was still tucked inside the band of his jeans. 

“Are you sure you're not going to get in trouble?” 

Toji had gotten on the elevator with you, his hand still slung too low on your waist to be purely polite, brow arched up at your concern for him slacking off. 

“Just wanna make sure you're alright,” he grumbled, huffing and looking back at the buttons lit-up on the elevator. 

You weren't really sure what he was to you. 

A boyfriend? A lover? 

But you didn't mind. His proximity was nice. His presence in your life was welcome. 

Even if it was causing problems with Gojo – who had made it clear he couldn't stand sharing your attention at all. Hated you having a life. 

You weren't delusional enough to think maybe he'd change his mind if he met Toji. 

But your fingers were still unsteady as the elevator dinged and let you off on the top floor. 

Gojo was sitting at your desk, legs propped up and feet on your paperwork. He was pretty as always, white hair tousled, one of those sharp brows of his casually raised as he glanced between you and Toji. “Is this seriously the guy?”

He laughed like it was an insult. Ignoring your frown when you walked over to hand him his coffee. He took it though, bringing it up to his mouth but not before scoffing again. 

“Satoru,” you hissed out his name, a low warning that he was rolling his eyes at.

He took a long drink, whipped cream sticking above his lips like a mustache before his face paled. The next few seconds slowed, crawling by as you watched him drop the mug, ceramic shards shattering as he choked. 

You were staring, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing, Toji’s voice registering behind you but the words not making any sense. 

What the hell was happening?

Somewhere, the vague thought hit you that something was seriously wrong, that Satoru was dying, but nothing would connect, your body refusing to respond to even the notion of it.

Your mouth fell open, but your scream was muffled by Toji’s hand. Knees buckling, just for him to catch you in his arm, one arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up. 

“Hey, hey, I'm here,” he gruffly muttered, and you clung to that. 

“W-we need to call someone,” you stammered, your panicked gasps turning into hyperventilating. This was bad. Really, really fucking bad. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed in your ears, turning around so you couldn't see Satoru anymore. Wouldn't have to look when-

You couldn't even finish the thought. 

“Just breathe, baby.”

“I-I can't.” You were trying, but no air would enter your lungs, throat constricting more with each attempt. 

Toji paused, his palm pressing harder against your back before he stiffened. 

“We need to go.”

You let him lead you back out, his hand on your spine still guiding you forward. One step, and another. Focusing on the rhythm in them, the pattern of the elevator carpet, a crack in the sidewalk, whatever was beneath your feet to stop the image of Satoru from flashing in your head. 

Was he dead? What could even cause it? An allergic reaction? Poison? 

Oh God no. 

He led you back to his car. 

Toji had parked it further down the street than usual, opening the door for you to get in and buckling you in again. It didn't feel quite as romantic as the first time.

“Where are we going?” You asked, voice cracking as you forced the words out. All you really wanted was to sleep, to go somewhere that you didn't have to think anymore.

“Don't worry about it, doll,” he casually said, shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver’s seat. 

“Is he-” 

You couldn't get the question out, and he didn’t answer.

“The cops are gonna think-” You started, only just starting to swallow the bitter pill that you were screwed. 

“They’ll frame you for it,” he scoffed, and you recoiled. Surprised at yourself for forgetting what you already knew about the man in front of you. 

He wouldn't sugarcoat it. 

Make fake promises to you that this would be fine. 

“But I-”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your fuckin’ life behind bars?” He growled, and you hated how much of a point he had. 

You shook your head, fingers trembling as he stilled them with his own. 

Gojo had a lot of enemies. Any one of them would be happy to let you take the fall. 

All you'd done was give Gojo a fucking cup of coffee – and now he was dead.

“There’s cameras,” you murmured, ones that would catch you running away from the scene of the crime. 

“They've been down half the day,” Toji grumbled, and you had no idea if that was even a relief. 

Your feelings were all jumbled, guilt, horror, disgust, regret, even affection and adoration tangled up in there with Toji trying so hard to keep you safe. 

You stared at him, still shaking, and he leaned across to spare you a heated kiss. Grounding you here with him, his calloused palm caressing your cheek as his pretty eyes narrowed. 

“I'll protect you.” 

Toji meant it.

The motel was shitty, far enough from the city you dozed off on the drive, but there weren’t any cameras. No one to watch him carry you from his car and no one to care after he tossed enough cash to cover a room at the strung-out receptionist. 

You woke up still in shock. Reeling from what you’d seen – or rather what you’d done. 

“Someone’s gonna come-”

“No one’s gonna find you, baby,” he promised, and it was one he intended to keep. 

You curled up on the bed, and he crawled in next to you, letting you bury your face in his chest to muffle the faint sounds of crying. Stroking your hair at first, eventually untucking your shirt from your skirt to trace soothing patterns over the bare skin of your back. Maybe you were scared right now, that was natural.

The first kill was always the hardest. 

Once you were somewhere safe, once you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, you’d relax. After the news cycle covering your former employer’s death died off, and the investigation went cold, you'd realize that you wouldn't get caught. 

And if you adjusted better than he hoped, maybe you could be his assistant. 

Or if not, maybe he could leave this life behind. Find something more stable. Part-time work, or something he could do from home to spend more time with you.

You fell back asleep on him, lashes fluttering as he ran over his next steps. 

He'd gotten rid of both your cells and tossed your wallet on the drive, slipping the sim cards out and destroying them when he got gas and paid in cash. Someone had probably found the body by now. He'd need to switch cars to pick up the payment from the drop off point, but that wouldn't be a problem. 

There was a payphone outside, one he could see from the window. He'd call Shiu from it in a few minutes, let you dream on him for a bit longer. 

The pay for this would be enough for fake passports, to buy some place off grid – and install a state of the art security system. To keep intruders or officers investigating out. 

And more importantly, keep you inside. 

There was nothing better than a bonus for a job well done - especially one as pretty as you.

Still, time-out on is own, he could tolerate. The fact that his punishment meant Suguru was withholding food until the next morning was less easily dealt with. He was an apex predator. He needed raw meat, a lot of it, and as often as he could shovel it into his mouth. More damningly, he was a spoiled housecat. Skipping a meal wasn’t an inconvenience — it was torture. By that evening, he was grumbling. By sunset, he was sharpening his claws on the aluminum bars. By midnight, he was curled into a ball, snarling at every shadow that flickered across the empty room and whipping his tail against the floor. Not that it mattered. He could growl and scream all night if he wanted to. Suguru was too stubborn to fall for something like that. He couldn’t be coming to check on Satoru until tomorrow morn—

His rounded ears perked up as the bedroom door opened, soft footsteps scampering through the hallway and into the kitchen. He heard the plastic clacking of someone rummaging through the fridge, the metallic chafe of a knife cutting on marble. Eventually, your feet came into view, dragging anxiously. There was something wet and red in your left hand.

You crouched in front of his crate and held out your offering — a slice of raw meat about the size of your palm, the edges ragged where someone had hacked it away from a larger chunk. Glaring at you, he snatched the cut away and sank his fangs in. You watched him eat in silence, those big empty eyes of yours glossy with curiosity. When he was done, you asked, “What is it?”

“Dog,” he snarled. It was an obvious lie, not even really a clever one. Boar or rabbit would’ve been more realistic. Satoru couldn’t tell. He’d never had an overly discerning palate. Preference was counterintuitive to survival. Hunger was hunger. Meat was meat.

He expected you to flinch back. Bare your teeth at him, even. Instead, you just blinked and continued you stare blankly.

Satoru’s frown deepened. “You do know you’re a dog, right?”

“Mhm.”

“A common breed, at that. Easily replaceable.”

“Yeah! I think you’ve mentioned that, before.”

Satoru groaned. Even you couldn’t be this stupid. “It’s like you want to end up on somebody’s plate.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind. Not if it’s yours.” Your ugly tail was starting to wag. “As long as I’m helping.”

“You really don’t know what that word means, do you?”

Even in the dark, that idiotic smile of yours was brighter than the sun. “Of course. It means I’m helping you.”

If Satoru hadn’t been such a well-behaved, beautiful, noble creature, he would’ve reached through the bars of his crate to throttle you.

“Go back to bed, puppy.”

“Okay!” Your blunt claws scratched against the floor as you scrambled to your feet. You started towards the bedroom, but paused, glancing over your shoulder and letting your tail droop. “But, you’ll be alone.”

And it would still be better than spending another minute with you. “I’ll be fine.”

You pouted. He curled up and clenched his eyes shut as you scampered off toward the bedroom, only to circle back a few seconds later, rest something against his crate, and retreat without another word. He only dared to check once he knew you were gone, not wanting to deal with your stupidity first-hand again so soon.

You’d left him one of your stuffed animals. Suguru had bought you a legion of them when he first brought you home, and the handful Satoru hadn’t desecrated beyond repair were now your most prized possessions. You’d left him one of your favorites — a little white cat, all neatly combed fur and gigantic blue eyes.

Something turned over in Satoru’s stomach. Carefully, with gentle hands, he pulled the stuffed into his crate, dragged a nail down the length of its stomach, and spent the rest of the night tearing it to shreds.

~

You’d been a nuisance before. After that night, you became unbearable.

No matter how hard he tried to pretend that you simply didn’t exist, he couldn’t seem to stop noticing you. The way your body curled into the smallest possible ball as you napped in the backyard on sunny days. How your tail would beat against the floor whenever someone spoke after a long silence. The tasks you left half-finished because, no matter what you were doing or how much time it had taken, you’d forget about it entirely if he or Suguru called your name at any point. It was frustrating. Worse — it was smothering. He’d always thought of you as annoying, but ignorable, on par with a tacky rug or broken lamp. Now, you were more like a housefly. Always flitting about in his peripheral but never close enough to swat.

And you were gloating, too. Inescapably. All the time. Grinning like an idiot and stepping on his heels as you asked if there was anything you could help with, anything he needed. You even started sleeping on the foot of Suguru’s bed, which was obviously Satoru’s spot. He had his own room and hammock, sure, and he wouldn’t be caught dead putting himself below a human, but still. You should’ve known. You should’ve stayed away.

Or, at least, pretended to be sorry when he slipped into Suguru’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning and caught you red-handed. You weren’t smart enough to grovel, though. You weren’t even smart enough to wake up. It took long, groggy seconds before your nose began to twitch, your eyes flashing open a second later. You tensed then, recognizing the shape looming over you, relaxed. After wasting more of his time to yawn and stretch, you smiled up at him.

“Do you need help with something, ‘toru?”

You made no effort to keep your voice down. His gaze shifted to Suguru — still sound asleep on the other side of the mattress. He’s been away for longer than usual, that day, and he’d come back with bruises over his knuckles and bandages on his chest. Something about an escapee at the research facility — Satoru wasn’t sure. But he’d seen Suguru come home like that before. He wouldn’t budge up until sunrise, if even then. No amount of noise could possibly wake him up.

But you didn’t know that.

Satoru nodded. “We have to be quiet, though. Really quiet.”

He’d never seen your brainless eyes so wide. “I can do that.”

“You have to promise, puppy.”

You rolled onto your chest, clambering toward the side of the bed. “I—” Already too pitchy, already too loud. Satoru cringed, and you fell into a harsh whisper. “I promise.”

And yet, you yelped as he grabbed your waist. It would be pointless to try and explain what he wanted when the only words that made it through your thick canine skull were ‘sit’, ‘stay’, and ‘roll over’. It was easier just to pull and jerk you into position — your lower body hanging off the edge of the mattress while your hands grabbed at Suguru’s sheets. For a predator species, you had terrible reflexes. It took you long, clumsy seconds for you to get your feet on the ground and even longer before you thought to look at him, more confused than alarmed. Again, Satoru opted not to waste his breath. You’d get it soon enough.

Or you wouldn’t. Satoru could’ve purred at the thought alone.

You didn’t wear much to bed. One of Suguru’s t-shirts, but nothing else, nothing close to the silk sets Satoru needed to keep his fur unmatted. The flimsy material rose up as you squirmed, leaving your ass and cunt exposed. You made no attempt to cover yourself. Whether your last owner had been less strict about human modesty practices or you were just genuinely that oblivious, Satoru couldn’t tell. By way of punishment, he dug his fangs into the curve of your ass, his ears perking up to better catch the pitchy bark you only halfway choked down in response. Your hands darted to your face, covering your mouth. Good. You were finally catching on.

He edged your thighs apart with his shoulders, settling between your legs. Admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with other hybrids save for the videos he caught Suguru watching every now and then, but he was a smart cat, and the details weren’t that hard to figure out. You were already wet — your cunt slick and glistening in the bedroom’s dim light. Experimentally, Satoru ran his tongue over the length of your cunt, his rough bristles catching on the sensitive skin. You let out another strangled noise, something between a groan and a whimper, before whining. “Wait, I— That feels—”

“Quiet,” he hissed, the command forced out between pointed fangs. “Or are you just too stupid to keep your mouth shut?”

He felt you stiffen above him, then shift. When you spoke, your voice was muted, barely above a whisper. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought you sounded a little upset. “Right, ‘toru. I’m sorry.”

Satisfaction coursed through him, as warm as sunlight on concrete. Maybe you were good for something, after all.

He couldn’t afford to waste more time on your impromptu training. He settled back into place, shutting his eyes and letting instinct take over. The flat of his tongue fit perfectly over your pussy, never leaving more than an inch of you exposed at a time. You wriggled, and when that didn’t help, buried your face in a pile of bedsheets and moaned. Suguru never so much as stirred.

He couldn’t get to enough of you, like this. Curling his hands around your thighs, he dragged you back, creating more room between you and the edge of the mattress — room that he was quick to fill. You were starting to drip, now, and Satoru lapped up your arousal before a drop could go to waste. You tasted sweet. Not saccharine or sugary, but sweet. Like fresh cream or raw honey. Like uncooked meat.

Hungrily, he pushed deeper, letting the curled tip of his tongue slip inside of you. Your body twitched underneath him, but that didn’t matter, you weren’t strong enough for it to matter. Holding you down was child’s play, but as always, you failed to acknowledge the prowess of your betters. Your smaller body continued to buck and writhe while he curled and flexed his tongue inside of you, his broadened feline nose grinding against your clit all the while. You were getting loud again, but for whatever reason, he found it hard to be annoyed by your little pained noises. Probably because it was the closest thing to an intelligent sound you would ever make.

It happened too quickly to savor. Your thighs shuddered around his head, your cunt clenching around him, and then, you were cumming on his tongue. It was humiliating and hot and twitchy, and he drank it down without stopping to think. When the aftershocks waned, you slumped into the bed, exhausted when all you’d done was lie there and take what he was kind enough to give you. He should’ve expected as much, really. You’d always been an ungrateful mutt.

Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he pushed himself to his feet. You raised your head, tracking him as he silently padded across the room. The last thing he saw before he closed the door was your wide, glassy eyes, unblinking and unfalteringly trained on him.

~

You didn’t leave the bedroom the next day, or the day after that. Satoru lounged outside your door as Suguru came and went, looking paler and more strung-out than usual, toting medication or blankets or water bottles by the armfuls. The door was kept shut, but even from the corridor, he could smell you. Not that dirty, muggy, wet-dog smell no amount of Suguru’s expensive hair products could wash away, but the other one. Raw meat, sweet and fresh and bloody.

On the third day of your quarantine, Suguru had to go out. “Work emergency,” he explained, as he pulled on his shoes. A plain folder was tucked under his arm, and he’d been scowling for the past fifteen minutes. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Satoru watched from the other side of the corridor. His tail thrashed to either side, sweeping over the floor. “And the dog?”

“(Y/n)?” Suguru grimaced. “I’ll handle it when I get back.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them. He crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet and resting his cheek against Suguru’s inner thigh. “I can help.”

A calloused hand landed on top of his head. Satoru began to lean into it, but fingertips quickly knotted themselves in his hair and dragged him away by force. “I’ll handle it when I get back,” he repeated, his voice as dense and as heavy as lead. “Behave yourself.”

Satoru huffed, rolling his eyes. Suguru left without another word and for once, Satoru wasn’t sad to see him go.

The bedroom door was locked. Amateur mistake. Closed doors only made cats more curious. Satoru used one of his claws to unhook the fastener and let himself in. Your scent had been strong, at a distance. Inside, it was suffocating. The air seemed thick with it, as hot and as humid as the flesh of a fresh kill. Satoru closed his eyes, breathing it in. Maybe, if you were always so appealing, he could forget how much he hated you.

You were a wreck. Curled up on the center of the bed, your knees pulled up against your chest and your tail tucked between your legs. You’d piled sheets and blankets around yourself, walling yourself in to a miserable little den. You were still wearing Suguru’s shirt, but just barely, the thin material bunched up above the curve of your chest. There was something inside of you, too — bright pink and bulbed where it pressed against your cunt. A toy, molded in the shape of a knotted cock.

Immediately, Satoru’s smile fell away. As if you needed something like that when you had him.

You barely acknowledged him. There was a slight lift of your head as he climbed onto the mattress, a low whimper as he trampled over your makeshift barriers, but that was all. You only looked at him once he was on top of you — his larger form bent over yours. Your face was flushed, your hair plastered down with sweat. You blinked lazily at him, your usual intensity dulled into something soft and liquid. Your entire body radiated warmth, so strong he could feel it from inches away.

You were in heat.

Perfect.

“Wake up, puppy.” You eyes were already open, but he slapped your cheek softly for good measure. “I need your help.”

“‘toru?” Airy and uncertain, as if you didn’t recognize him. As if anyone else would bother to check on you. “I can’t really— I’m in a lot of—”

“Then you’re useless.” You shrank that much smaller. Satoru took you by the shoulder, pawing you onto your back. “Fine. When Suguru comes home, I can tell him that you don’t want to do your job, anymore. That you’d rather just lie around and whine. That you’d rather be in the pound.”

“No!” You clenched your eyes shut, features scrunching. “Please, please don’t. I can— I’ll do anything you want. Just— Anything but that.”

His hand fell to your knee. “Spread your legs.”

Despite your begging, you were reluctant. “It hurts, ‘toru.”

“Do you want me to make it hurt more?”

Your ears flattened against your head. He could see the corner of your lips begin to curl back, the thinnest sliver of pointed teeth, but it was gone just as soon as it’d appeared. Obediently, you held still while he pried your thighs apart, pushing until your knees were flat against the bed. That ugly thing was still inside of you. He tore it out as quickly as he could, your hips chasing the toy despite your pained mewls. As if you needed it. As if it did anything for you that he couldn’t do better.

With it gone, your pussy clenched around nothing. You were dripping wet, literally. Slick coated the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you. Satoru lapped as much as he could up before letting his mouth drift north — to your navel, then your neck. He could feel your pulse beating under your skin, as fast and as frantic as any prey animal. You were scared of him.

His cock twitched. He wasn’t going to last much longer, at this rate.

Pulling away, he forced himself to focus on your cunt. His cock was hard to the touch, the slanted head already beginning to leak. He wasted time he didn’t have lining himself up, giving you a chance to crane your neck and squeak, recoiling hastily. Satoru laughed.

“You’ve never mated with a cat, have you?”

A beat of hesitation, then a quick shake of your head. Of course not. He’d be surprised if you even knew the meaning of the word.

Most cat-hybrids had some kind of barb, larger species included. You wouldn’t have noticed them last time you saw his cock, too focused on choking him down to wonder what was pricking the inside of your mouth. They weren’t meant to cause pain. Most female cat-hybrids had a way to deal with the discomfort, but you weren’t a cat-hybrid.

And judging by the look on your face, you’d realized that too.

He pushed into you before you without warning, without giving you a chance to pull away. The sound you made was pitiful — so pitchy and so heartbreaking and so, so good. He pulled back just as harshly, pounding into you again, and again, and again, a pathetic little sound meeting every thrust. Your body writhed and twisted beneath his, more snared rabbit than cornered dog. He could feel your claws on his back, scratching away at his skin, make out the bulge of his cock through your lower stomach. He ground his hips into yours and you arched against him, your open mouth finding the side of his throat. It took long, clumsy seconds for your dull teeth to break his skin. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought you were actually trying to hurt him.

It was a testament to Satoru’s feline superiority that he didn’t cum on the spot. Rather, he savored the feeling of your saliva dripping down his neck and fucked you that much harder, giving into the needy, instinctual part of himself that howled for something to claim, something to have. Because that’s what you were, weren’t you? Suguru had gotten you for him. You were in a comfortable bed instead of a concrete cell because of him. You were pampered and coddled and loved because he needed you. You were his. You were—

His conscious thoughts broke off into a euphorically empty void. His hands caught underneath your knees, shoving your legs up until they pressed into your chest. Your body folded perfectly underneath him, your mouth finally unlatching in favor of moaning, whining, screaming — every sound you were capable of making melding together in Satoru’s sensitive ears to form one prolonged declaration of gratitude. Your pussy clenched around him, and he buried himself that much deeper inside of you. Warmth flooded through him and filled you to bursting, the excess forming a white ring around the base of his cock. He couldn’t be mad. The only thing you’d ever done right was take what he had to give you.

When it was over, he didn’t move. He stayed here, prone on top of you, watching his cum leak out of your ungrateful body. When he could stand to look away, he found your wide eyes boring into him, glossy with tears and all-but vacant. Your heat had broken, leaving behind only raw hurt in its place.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, puppy,” he laughed, licking a stripe up your cheek. For the first time, you grimaced, melting away from him. Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t as if he was ever going to let you go again.

The mattress dipped next to your head. A cool, scarred palm pressed against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a click of the tongue. Suguru. He’d started his mother-hen routine as soon as you’d admitted (stupidly, in hindsight) to feeling a little sick and had yet to give it up. Part of it must’ve been nostalgia. His daughters were in their late teens. It’d been years since he’d had anything soft and vulnerable to dote on. But, as you glared at him through watery eyes, you would’ve sworn there was something else there. An edge. A shadow. The slightest, barest hint of anger that there was anything on this planet that could hurt you other than him.

But then you blinked at it was gone, replaced by stoic neutrality as he snatched a bottle off the bedside table and twisted off the childproof cap. You felt something pressed being pressed against your lips and pursed them tighter, in response. Suguru sighed.

“It’s just medicine, sweetheart.”

 Yeah, right. You’d heard that one before.

Your voice was all grit. Driveway gravel lubricated with battery acid and strained through a sandpaper funnel. “…label.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but handed the bottle over anyway. You forced yourself to sit up, lasting just long enough to scan over the bold-font logo and excessive use warnings that you would be gleeful ignoring before collapsing back onto your pillow and letting Suguru place the pill on your tongue. It tasted like chalk and misery, which was somehow still better than the god-awful herbal tea he gave you to help swallow.

Meanwhile, Satoru watched it all, unmoving and unblinking. He tended to do that whenever Suguru was pampering you – forget he was part of scene and relegate himself a silent, observant feature of the background. He only came back to himself when you sniffled, ducking your head to sneeze into your comforter. A smile pulled at the edges of his lips, one of his hands reaching up to ghost over the curve of your jaw. “You’re kind of hot like this. All helpless and whiney, I mean.”

He moved to cup your chin. Suguru caught his wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouted. “How come som virus gets to be inside of her and I can’t?”

This question was swiftly and mercifully deemed too stupid to answer. Suguru pushed himself to his feet and Satoru sighed languidly, flopping onto the bed next to you. “It’s not like I’ll catch anything. World’s Strongest Sorcerer, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get sick, idiot.”

“But what if it doe—”

You cut him off with a conveniently timed coughing fit. The ugly type – prolonged and hacking, forceful enough to leave you panting while your throat burnt. Satoru grinned. Before Suguru could stop him, he threw himself into you and licked a long stripe over your open mouth, then laughed as you groaned and swatted him away.

“See?” he asked, smirking at Suguru. “Nobody died.”

Suguru responded by pitching the bottle of pills at his co-kidnapper, nailing Satoru in the head with enough force to crack the plastic.