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★ EL CHICO DEL APARTAMENTO 512

gojo satoru was a brilliant geneticist, with more awards and peer reviewed articles that could fit on his shelves. and.. he also happened to be your next door neighbor. despite fleeting touches grabbing the mail at the same time and bumbling conversation, you find yourself crushing on the overworked scientist. you’re certain you’ve messed it up until a white cat appears on your doorstep, fur all to similar to the wild hair you’ve grown used to seeing.

★ FEATURING: geneticist! satoru gojo x fem! reader

★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. catoru’s origins are inspired by miguel o’hara. (because he haunts me in everything ig) drugging (not from reader/to reader). illegal/unethical science experiments. na*ya mention. some toji angst. awkward reader. catoru’s a lil shit. fem masturbation. cunnilingus. slight body worship. unprotected p in v. missionary. tit play. use of pet names. asking him to keep the glasses on. kinda whiny gojo.

★ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ A DIVINE NOTE: let me finish reposting a couple more and i’ll lock in on punisher toji 🫡

zen’in industries.

the company started off under the premise of promoting young, brilliant scientists to shape the future of tomorrow, each innovation not only dropping the most advanced of military tech onto the market but a way to make the everyday person’s life easier.

the super-healthy no grain no calories no sugar cereal sitting on the shelves of your local supermarket? zen’in industries.

a new toy in a shiny box turning from a truck to a computer to a toy dinosaur? zen’in industries.

military grade weapons approved under the guise of state defense and national security? zen’in industries.

the corporation had expanded throughout the last couple of years, a mega corporation with connections on nearly every continent. a building situated where they could get one propped up.

what had once started as a humble three-man facility now became a power-hungry rampage, always looking for more more more.

the zen’ins control their own privatized police force, bending the rule of law and the rule of justice underneath their thumb. where they didn’t control, their pockets funded to achieve said control. their research delving into illegal cloning devices and drugs not yet approved by the fda.

much quite like the one gojo satoru was testing right now.

a device designed to intertwine the dna of a spider—isolating its regeneration capability—and the dna of a human’s. if it works, it’ll diminish the amount of diseases that still affect a majority of people, diminishing the ability of cancer cells to spread.

or at least that’s what the company claims. that’s what satoru wants to achieve with his research, with every excruciating hour he spends either locked up in a lab or feeding a spidering. though, the research is meant to be exclusive. limited access to only the rich of the rich. a way to make them invincible in a world of uncertainty.

it’s too much, too much far too soon. testing on people. the tests that they’ve done on a couple lab rats have proven to be promising, their dna taking to the mutation quite well. if only with a couple failures amongst the batch. still, those failures hadn’t been modified enough to where the margin of error was low enough to test on humans.

and yet, naoya brings toji zen’in into his lab to play the sacrificial guinea pig.

the failure of the zenin family, a man with no future the corporation claimed. they'd wiped their hands off him, leaving almost zero trace that connected him back to them. and if this experiment failed, there'd be no trace that a man named toji zenin ever existed in the first place.

the implications hung in the air like dead weight.

"nice weather we're having, huh?" satoru attempts to break the silence once naoya steps out of the room, a nervous laugh escaping from his lips. he's met with a very unimpressed look from toji, the man's thoughts surely clouded with all the different ways to wring his neck like a chicken.

long fingers reach for the papers scattered across his desk, rummaging through the different sheets just to have something to do in the heavy silence. he flips through a couple sheets before reaching the end of the stack, coming across what he was looking for.

satoru clears his throat yet again, his gaze on the paper in front of him. “so, this is a consent paper.” he slips the document across the table with a dr. doom pen, watching as toji picks it up to read over it. “basically you’re signing up for this experiment and saying we’re not responsible for anything that happens to you.”

“there won’t be any need for that.” naoya’s voice breaks through the intercom, a stinging reminder that he was always watching. always listening.

the consent form is untouched between them, an experiment done under wraps. one whose results would be documented for the purpose of advancing the tech, later incinerated to wipe all residue of guilt. satoru takes the paper, placing it back in the stack of documents. shoving it to the back.

“the process is quite simple, really.” gojo pushes the thin frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer, clearing his throat. “the test subject, uh, you, in this case, steps into a chamber to have their dna altered by a retrovirus. the type of rna within the virus allows for the reversal of genetic information. the retrovirus in this case is a spider’s dna, which would swap your information to become a permanent part of your cells’ genome.

pretty much, if it works, you’re gonna have dormant spider abilities. it’s, uh, pretty cool,” even satoru can’t help the hint of excitement that sneaks onto his voice, his hands moving faster than he can articulate his thoughts into words.

unfortunately as cool as he thought it was, he was only met with a blank stare from toji. the man only folded his arms across his broad chest, tapping on his forearms. “fuck happens if it doesn’t work?”

gojo swallows dryly, his eyes darting to the various papers scattered throughout his desk. “it’s going to work.”

the fact is, gojo, didn’t know the full extent of the consequences of a failed experiment. in the rats he’d worked on a few days prior, they survived like normal for a few days, even going as far as playing on their wheel, before their own body started to reject their very being.

the rats had turned into an aggressive super being, nibbling on the cold metal of their cages and scratching anything that happened to be next to them. before they started to scratch themselves, ripping away their flesh without so much as a squeak. but gojo had his fingers crossed, that had to count for something.

toji stepped into the capsule awaiting, already resigned to his fate. gojo mumbled to himself while he got the machine started up, tapping a bunch of buttons that made no sense to anyone but him. "reduce the margin of error…mutation gene…." he picked up a clipboard, checking off every box.

electricity sparked as soon as the machine whirred to life, static crackling heavy in the air. the multiple plugs responsible for powering such machinery threaten to give out under the sudden surge, the vial of spider dna injected into toji's arm.

a loud scream rips from toji’s chest, the yell echoing through the walls. a scream that gojo's going to be hearing every night before he goes to bed. it's full of raw agony, of helplessness, of rage. and just as quickly as it happens, it's over. rhythmic taps echo across the floor, the tinge of iron landing on satoru's tongue.

he's anxious. he's never been anxious. hasn't been this anxious since he was a fresh faced fifteen year old freshman in a laboratory full of twenty year old college students.

a part of him wants to see what happened, another part wants to leave the room and avoid the surge of disappointment that's starting to take place.

steam wafts from the chamber, the area completely covered in a grey cloud. satoru’s vision is obstructed, a quiet prayer to darwin himself that the experiment was a success with every second that passed in bitter anticipation.

it didn’t work.

despite how many times he’s calibrated and recalibrated the system, toji’s dna wasn’t a match. his body had completely rejected the mutation, the spider dna turning into a different entity of its own rather than morphing into his system. "yet another failure." he could hear naoya's voice in his head as clear as day.

a spider-like creature with toji’s face remains after the gas settles, pinchers scratching against the glass almost painfully. attacking the glass in a way satoru had seen before, all eight eyes staring at him like they wanted him dead. then, the creature begins to dig at his arms, at his legs, at every piece of flesh that remains of toji fushiguro. there's no pain in the action, just sheer desperation with every scratch.

and then comes the final part of the failed transformation. a high pitched screech leaves the creature, the glass that once held up the capsule shut shattered into tiny pieces. it moves an inch, eyes narrowing directly onto gojo like a bullseye. but before it can move, before it can even react, it writhes against itself, worming on the floor. a twitch of its pinchers. then nothing.

no signs of a heartbeat, of any breaths. gojo's sitting at his desk, unable to move from his spot. each breath that enters his lungs leaves his chest in a heave, his shoulders shaking after the scene in front of him. a failed experiment, he could deal with. he's dealt with disappointment before. but he's never dealt with killing someone before.

a singular polaroid drops from the scraps holding up the remains of toji’s pants, a simple family portrait. it has a little boy at the center of the photograph, hair spiked up like a porcupine. he couldn’t have been older than six months, a pacifier in his mouth while he looked up at the woman.

toji’s wife, he presumed. the little boy was an exact carbon copy of the woman, if only a little grumpier. the only thing he’d taken from his father, as far as he could tell.

and now he had to call him to let them know toji wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

the monster in the chamber slithered within its confines, goo spilling out like gelatin from the sides. a stench more putrid than garbage day and still sewage water combined filters throughout the room, the remains of toji helplessly scratching against its flesh.

the call picks up on the second ring, the sound of cartoons in the background before someone speaks up, “toji?” his wife, satoru presumes, “are you almost home? your dinner’s getting cold, i made your favorite.”

his breath catches in his throat, unable to say or even think of how to go about this process. toji fushiguro had a life waiting for him at home and he ripped that from right under his feet, all to fulfill naoya’s persistence. a guy he couldn’t even stand, a guy he didn’t respect half the time.

“…toji?” the voice on the other end called out, voice dripping with thinly veiled concern, “is everything okay?”

guilt curls deep within gojo’s gut, curling itself around him tighter and tighter until he manages to choke out, “toji won’t be making it home for dinner.”

a pregnant silence ensues. for a second, it isn’t real. toji’s getting on the train and he’s getting home, complaining about how expensive his scratch ticket was despite buying two. he’s stepping into a warm home engulfed by spices and love seeping through the walls instead of a cold and merciless capsule.

a nervous laugh leaves the woman on the other end, “okay, pretty funny. i don’t know who this is, but could you give the phone back to my husband?”

gojo lets out a sharp breath, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “i work at zen’in industries—” the name makes the woman let out a gasp, something dropping in the background, “your husband was subjected to an experiment and it didn’t succeed. he didn’t make it.” he’s speaking in a clinical tone, trying to remove himself from the situation.

gojo doesn’t receive a response. the only thing he hears seconds later is the sound of the dial, the woman having hung up on him mid sentence. he drops the phone with a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. the logical thing would be to go to the board, to complain about the ethics of this enterprise.

but the board's paid off, very well, to rule in favor of the zen'ins. his fingers twitch against the ballpoint pen in his harsh grasp, the words slipping out of him like water.

to whom this letter may concern,

i am choosing to quit this fucking company

he balls up the paper, tossing it into the trashcan across the room. it swirls around the rim before going in without effort. the pen taps against his desk before he's forcing himself to write a letter that doesn't make it sound like he wants to strangle naoya.

to whom this letter may concern,

the opportunities that i've recieved at this job have been incredible, i greatly appreciate the time that i've been granted to spend at this company. however, i have recently come across a experiment that conflicts with my ethics, which is why i cannot continue working at this company.

gojo goes on a spiel glazing the company, his jaw clenched with each time he has to write appreciate on the damn piece of paper. with a signature of his name, he reads over it again. good enough.

the elevator ride up to the fiftieth floor was painfully slow, windows giving way to the city lighting up after the sun's gone down. it's a mixture of led lights, street signs flickering from a distance, cars zooming past in a blur. the elevator music playing feels more eerie than anything, his grip on the piece of paper tightening.

it dings once before the metal doors open to reveal the ultimate floor of the building.

where paintings worth more than the down payment of a house hung on the walls, glass windows from floor to ceiling with an spectacular view of the skyline just below. where a singular office took up the entire floor, only having a secretary's desk in the lobby. and where you had to make an appointment months in advance to even step foot up here.

heavy footsteps echoed across pristine marble floors, leading him into the massive office at the end of the corridor. the lighting dimmed down menacingly, only one single lamp lighting up the door to the office.

satoru stops just outside of the door, a steadying breath leaving his lips before he brings his fist up. this is stupid, he should turn around. he knocks on the door anyways, three sharp raps against the wood. every second he spends waiting feels like an eternity,

“come in.” naobito’s voice cuts in through the silence, loud and authoritative. satoru feels like he’s under a microscope with each step he takes into the room, knuckles ghost white with how tightly he’s gripping the crumbling paper in his fingers.

naobito’s too relaxed, sitting back on a white leather ergonomic chair at a dark oak desk, polished to perfection with gold engraving. a stack of papers sits on his desk underneath a 24k gold paperweight, all from grant proposals to advancements in military tech with a neat little signature on the bottom.

he picks up the piece of paper, one of his bony fingers twirling around the paper straight mustache. naobito's not even willing to entertain it, skimming through a few sentences before setting it back down to be ignored with the rest of the documents on his table.

"take a seat." it's not so much as a suggestion, as a request, but rather a thinly veiled demand. satoru takes a seat across his desk, folding his hands across his lap. he watches his senior slip out a bottle of bourbon from one of his counters, a bottle probably worth more than what they're paying him.

naobito stares at the bottle like it's his prized son, "pappy van winkle, you've never tried, right?"

satoru merely shakes his head. while most of his coworkers opted for a shot or two when they went out for faculty drinks night, he went with a club soda. even in postgrad, he’d gotten through with sheer determination and caramel frappes with extra whipped cream.

the older man just lets out a wheezing laugh, coughing seconds after. "thought so."

the first taste of alcohol that lands on his tongue is bitter, the amber liquid making his features scrunch up on its way down. naobito lets out a low chuckle upon his reaction, his hand lazily swirling around his glass. “been sitting on the shelf for a couple years now, must be real aged by now.”

"yea…" the sentence remains unfinished. his grip around the glass trembles and loosens, pieces of glass shattered and the liquid drip dropping onto the once pristine floors. his vision blurs at the edges, everything transformed into a blob of what it was. he wills himself to move, to try to stand up, but he only manages to move a quarter of an inch before everything goes black.

if satoru, geneticist extraordinaire with an iq upwards of 200, would’ve paying a little bit more attention, would’ve interpreted naobito the way he did gene expressions, he would’ve noticed the old hag hadn’t so much as taken a sip from his glass.

satoru gojo wakes up sprawled across his office couch, a headache pounding at the back of his skull. his vision blurs at the edges, his fingers shaking and sweat dripping down his forehead. it’s 8 degrees celsius in the room. he’s not sure if he’s standing, the sensation gone in his legs completely.

no amount of alcohol fucked him up this badly. the glass is positioned right in front of him, settled on a cork coaster at the coffee table. the last thing he remembers is going up to naobito's office, resignation letter in tow before his memory starts to grow fuzzy. which meant the glass on his coffee table must've been planted, must've been put there to mess with his head even further.

gojo needed to test just what the fuck naobito had put in his drink.

normally, the testing of substances takes nearly a day. with interns, students, and other geneticists using up the material, each one claiming that theirs was more important. but the halls are completely devoid of any soul, even the ones that liked to linger late at night have left to go home. satoru should’ve done the same. but he trudged forward, haphazardly swinging his id card against the access reader.

then comes the biometric scanner. a red laser scans across his bloodshot eyes, the screen turning a dark shade of green before the doors swish open. he moves with purpose, quick strides leading him to the first available lab.

rapture.

one of the drugs that naobito had pushed and pushed to get approval from the dea, even going so far as offering to bribe the agency, only to ultimately get rejected. plenty of illegal drugs had been passed through with enough money, overlooked by those at the agency, but rapture proved to be too much of a danger to do so.

the drug itself was said to have been more addictive than cocaine and heroin combined, keeping its user hooked onto the drug by taking them to the brink of death if they didn't take their dosage. their body became a mechanism that only reacted to the drug, brain and muscles only stimulated with each injection.

how much had naobito put in the drink? though, he supposed that much didn't matter. just one drop was rumored to fuck up your body.

satoru realizes what this is—keeping him in the job by getting him addicted to a drug that only zen'in produces. he's already starting to feel the low of the drug, his fingers twitching against the results sheet. his skin is on fire, burning him from the inside out.

there's only thing one left to do.

he finds himself back at the lab, reading through the percentages he'd used with toji fushiguro. satoru messed around with the machine, altering the percentages to match with his dna. he swaps the bases necessary, matching a to pair up with the spider's t, the spider's c matching up with g.

he was going to alter his dna with the same chamber that killed toji fushiguro.

a quiet exhale left his lips before he forced himself to start up the machine. it whirs to life within seconds, electricity crackling as it courses through his veins. a tingly feeling settles deep within his body, replacing the overwhelming feeling of desperation from rapture earlier.

the surge of electricity stops after a few seconds. aquamarine eyes blink once, then twice, before they finally register the scene in front of him. he’s seeing the inside of the chamber, goo dripping from each crook and crevice. the room seems to have grown in size, everything suddenly magnified.

he’s not dead, he doesn’t think he is anyways.

he can still feel the chill of the lab's air hitting his spine, can still feel the utter exhaustion that's settled deep within his bones. but something must've happened. he doesn't feel the same as he once does. he reaches to rub a hand over his face, only to get a handful of hair.

for fuck's sake. satoru takes another look at his hands, seeing furry little paws in place of them. no wonder the room feels magnified—he's the one who shrunk down. little footsteps patter towards the huge glass windows, staring at his reflection. okay, definitely not dead.

but instead of being turned into one of the badass spider-man variants he’s read time and time again, the ones glorified in the newspaper as a hero, he’s turned into a fucking cat.

heavy footsteps echo across steel floors, the doors swishing open to reveal naoya coming back into the room. of course the two of them would plot against him. there's nothing in the chamber by the time naoya reaches it, satoru having dispersed as quickly as his little paws could carry him.

and he runs away to the only place he knows he'll be safe for the time being, narrowly avoiding being seen by any of the overhead cameras surrounding the building.

———

apartment 513.

a small one bedroom in an apartment complex that wasn’t exactly the nicest place around town. the kind where you needed to flush the toilet twice just to make sure it worked properly. where the dishwasher gave out years ago, never replaced by maintenance. where the a/c needed a pound or two to start funneling cold air again.

the kind where the only amenities offered were a desolate playground with brittle sand and a singular crooked swing and a washateria that ate up your spare coins, giving your clothes a half wash at best.

but as cheap and small as the space was, it was yours.

your neighbors were pretty sweet upon moving in, coming by your door first day to greet you with a plate of cookies and a warm welcome into the neighborhood. assuring you that they’d be there if you needed anything—from a spare cup of sugar to someone to talk to.

the only neighbor who hadn’t come by to greet you was the one next door, the guy from apartment 512.

you’d even assumed no one had lived there in the first place, the complex was full of empty apartments and you hadn’t heard a noise next door, haven’t even seen the lights come on underneath the crack of the door.

then you slowly started to hear the traces of the mystery tenant, hearing a keychain jingle at ungodly hours. mysterious gasses seeping in through the thin drywall every so often, a weird odor lingering hours after.

though you don’t see him two weeks after you moved in.

a bowl of kibble threatens to slip from your hand, the other holding on tightly to a bowl of water swishing and swirling around with each tentative step you take outside. two stray cats sit at your doorstep, their head perking up when you set the two bowls down. they don’t dare move, not just yet.

they only dare to move when you take a couple steps back, approaching the bowls slowly. a sniff at the bowl on one side, another sniff on the other side.

it’s starting to get chilly now, they shouldn’t have to be cold and hungry.

you don’t register the sound of footprints until they’re halfway down the hallway, where quite possibly, the most handsome guy you’ve seen, passes through. ivory hair falls messily onto his forehead, strands disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it. a pair of clear glasses frames his face almost perfectly, framing cerulean eyes that make you feel like you’re staring into the clearest of oceans in paradise.

he’s dressed in a light brown crew neck and a pair of khakis, a white lab coat strewn on his arm and a messenger bag resting on his shoulder. the apartment complex seems too little for a man like him, much too modest, but he walks like he’s the center of his own universe. untouched and unscathed.

“they finally rented out the place.” it’s stated as an observation rather than a greeting. you don’t even realize you were staring until he steps right in front of you, a little too close, social boundaries be damned.

you force yourself to snap out of your trance, giving him an awkward smile. all your social skills went out the window. “uh, yeah. moved in two weeks ago, the rent’s super cheap.” like he wouldn’t know how cheap it was.

luckily for you, the mystery tenant didn’t seem too offset by your reaction. the books in his hands are maneuvered onto one hand, on the verge of slipping, but he extends the newly available one, “i guess that makes us neighbors. gojo satoru, nice to meet you.”

you give him your name, your hand reaching out to shake his own. his fingers are long, hands cold from his time at the lab, and yet.. you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. the handshake lasts for a couple seconds too long, satoru clears his throat, “um, could you let go now?”

heat rising to your cheeks when you realized you’d been holding his hand in a death grip, a sheepish laugh leaving your lips. way to go about a first meeting.

your meeting seemed to be the catalyst for a string of other encounters with gojo, seeing him nearly every day around the building. when you were lugging out a heavy bag of garbage, he was leaving to head out to work. when you were rummaging through your mail, he was strolling in to pick up a package.

and each time you will yourself to have a (semi) normal conversation, to avoid feeling on edge every time his fingertips so much as graze against your own. and each time you fail. you end up stuttering over your own words, reduced to a mumbling mess before saving yourself the embarrassment and shutting up.

today had just happened to be while you were taking out the trash and he was on his way to work, ditching the crew neck and going for a button down. you tried to avoid looking at his forearms, the way his veins flexed as he locked the door behind him.

"hey," a warm smile settles across his features as he greets you, stepping a little closer. you’ve noticed that satoru struggles with spatial awareness, not that you really mind, you get a whiff of nice, expensive smelling cologne every time he’s near.

that, and well, you can see the little freckles scattered throughout his face closer.

“hey,” you echo with a smile of your own, your grip on your trash bag tightening just a bit.

“how’s your day going?” he doesn’t ask like he’s just trying to be polite, he asks like he’s genuinely curious. the fact makes your hands grow even clammier if possible, your heart doing a stupid flip in your chest.

“oh um, it’s going good, yeah,” you retorted, shifting a bit in your spot. his gaze is intense, like he could see right through you without even trying. “and yours? busy busy day at the company?”

he’s about to respond when suddenly a loud riiiippppp came from your trash bag, contents spilling out from the bottom onto the floor and right onto gojo satoru’s expensive suede loafers.

your eyes widen. so much for his busy busy day at the company. you’re quick to pick up the veggie peels off his shoes, hastily moving to collect the embarrassing amount of instant ramen wrappers scattered on the floor.

“i’m really sorry about that!” you blabber over and over again, handing over a napkin for him to finish wiping off. out of all the awkward moments with gojo, you’re certain this one takes the cake.

“just leave it.” satoru doesn’t leave any room for argument, shaking the muck off his shoes before letting out a begrudging sigh. he goes back into his apartment, taking a few minutes to change into another pair while you’re prolonging picking up the garbage scattered on the floor.

hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe apologize for the umpteenth time. but he doesn’t turn to look at you when he leaves, doesn’t even bother acknowledging your presence.

chances were that you were making a bigger deal than this was, that while you were left thinking over and over about the short conversations you'd shared, he'd already dismissed them like they never meant anything in the first place.

he rewired your entire nervous system and all the man had done was breathe. and you’d just gone and screwed it up with your garbage.

what you don't know is that satoru gojo gets to work late that day, leaving his apartment just a little later in hopes of running into you again.

———

the streets of tokyo are cold and lonely, cars relentless as they flash bright headlights at his shaking body, spraying dirty mud water onto his white coat. his paws ache as he pads on concrete, making his way back in a once familiar city suddenly in hues of blue, yellow, and green.

his stomach churns painfully at the whiff of yakitori at a stall nearby, careful eyes darting around for a morsel of a chicken scrap before he’s shooed away by a swat of an angry stall owner.

eventually, he does manage to find his way back to the apartment complex.

you're outside by the time he arrives at the apartment complex, setting down the bowl for the two regulars who are eagerly awaiting for their meal by your doorstep. he pads closer, stopping right before getting too close.

and then that's when you notice him.

a cat with fur as white as snow outside of your front door, akin to a head of hair you'd looked forward to seeing. despite his dirtied fur, you can tell that he's not a street cat like the two that roamed around the apartment complex. the poor thing probably ended up getting lost.

satoru takes a sniff from the bowl, the overwhelming stench of salmon nearly enough to make him hack up a hair ball ahead of time. but his stomach rumbles again—a stark reminder that all he’s had today is a cup of sugary coffee and a bite of stale overpriced mochi from one of the vending machines.

he steps in when the other two cats are done eating, taking a tentative nibble from the kibble presented to him. it's dry, crunching against his canines, and he's not sure if it's the hunger or the change in taste buds, but the food's the best thing he's tasted as of yet. he scarfs down the remainder of the kibble on the plate,

the two cats that came in for their daily dinner had already left, going off to find somewhere to sleep for the night. but the white cat remained outside of your door, you can't feel any chip underneath his fur, no kind of collar on his neck. “where’d you come from, sweetheart?”

“meow.” you’re not sure what other response you expected.

the white cat’s back arches, rubbing its side against your pajama pants. his ears move back like an airplane, practically purring like the motor of one. your fingers reach out to pet the top of his head only for your attempt to get rejected with a bat of his soft paws.

he wants to keep getting closer, you notice, watching as he's comfortably rubbing against you but he's too afraid to let himself be pet. you linger by the door for a little while before making your way back inside, leaving the door wide open.

the perfect opportunity, really. satoru scurries into your apartment before you manage to shut the door, giving you a quiet 'meow.'

“you can’t stay here tonight, i don’t have the things to take care of you.” even your protest was weak, you can’t bring yourself to kick him out when he’s shivering. cold and dirty.

the cat’s head tilts to the side, almost like he understood everything you were saying before pawing at your leg. you could feel yourself giving in to the furry creature with each passing second. “…okay. i won’t kick you out.”

his gaze is critical as he looks into your apartment, your living room composed of a grey futon and a tv propped up on a couple of dusty old books. there’s a half dead succulent on your windowsill (how you managed to do that, satoru doesn’t know) and a bookshelf full of novels.

“okay, shiro. i’m gonna put down a blanket just for tonight and then.. we’ll see what to do tomorrow.” you put down a cinnamoroll blanket down on the floor, the cat splaying across it. you’re nearly tempted to wrap him up in a burrito—deciding against it.

the lights are shut off and you retreat into your bedroom, leaving the cat alone with the sound of rushing traffic as a lullaby. it takes a while for him to fall asleep, wrinkling up the blanket from how much he’s turned at this rate.

and when he does fall asleep, it’s anything but relaxing. anything but blissful.

gojo, or shiro as you've dubbed him despite your insistence not to get attached, wakes up in the middle of the night with the sound of screams echoing through his head. toji. he can't remove the image from his head, can't force himself to go back to sleep. he sees the man every time he closes his eyes.

it isn't long before you're woken up from your sleep, a incessant scratching against your door. you think about ignoring it, about going back to sleep, but each meow just sounds more pitiful than the last. "okay, i'm up," you mumble, reluctantly shoving your blanket off.

opening the door, you're met with the sight of the fluffy little menace staring back at your half asleep state. he doesn't try to scram away or scratch at your arms when you pick him up, curling up against your chest.

“you’re okay,” your reassuring whispers do well to ease his mind, his paws kneading into your chest. setting him down on the bed, he chooses to lay down as closely as he can to you. even opting to lay on your pillow, his furry face against yours.

satoru shiro hasn’t slept that well in ages.

———

you don't see satoru again after yesterday. no more coincidental encounters, no more questions that had you giggling into your pillow at midnight. just pure silence.

you thought about knocking on his door, maybe once or twice. just out of pure concern—you haven't heard the jingle of his keys or his lights come on. but what would he think? that his awkward neighbor can't get the hint he's not interested? you couldn't deal with that embarrassment.

shiro had started taking up most of your time despite his short time in the apartment, demanding to be close to you at nearly every time possible. mounting up on the kitchen counter while you were brewing your morning coffee half asleep. pawing the bathroom door and peering into your soul while you were trying to do your business.

every corner you turned, shiro was there. even after he’d attempted to scratch your arms off after you gave him a bath, he still clung on next to you.

you spent nearly half of the morning before you had to get to work calling local animal shelters, seeing if there were any reports of a white fur menace missing. there weren't. keeping him would mean a massive responsibility, one you'd never had to deal with before. and yet you can't stomach the thought of dropping him off at the pound.

which is exactly how you found yourself at petsmart with a cart full of necessities, from an electronic litter box to heart shaped salmon treats.

"what kinda toy do you want?" you hold up two toy mice, each one infused with catnip. he paws at the one at the right and you toss it into the cart. each choice had been selected by the cat, letting him paw at what collar he wanted to get and what bed he wanted to lay in.

just to spite you, you’re certain, he chooses the most fucking expensive bed on the shelf. tempurpedic my ass. “come on, you don’t want this one?” you point to a small bed, one imprinted with little cats on the side.

shiro doesn’t move. he licks his paws on the tempurpedic bed, unrelenting towards giving up the bed. how a street cat could be such a goddamn diva. a quiet sigh leaves your lips before you end up picking it off the shelf, setting it down in the cart.

almost 80,000¥ and you were on your way back home, shiro in your passenger seat with one of your toys. your music gets interrupted by an incoming call, your ringtone blasting through the car. “hey.”

“hey!” your friend shoko calls out, already tipsy at three in the afternoon, “we’re going out for drinks on friday. you should come!”

satoru stops messing around with the mouse on his lap, finding himself clinging onto every bit of your conversation.

“oh, i’m not s-”

“come on! you’ve been obsessing over your neighbor long en-” oh?

“i’m not obsessing over my neighbor.” you protest, your grip on the steering wheel just a little bit tighter.

“you totalllyyy are. come on, it’ll be nice to get out of the house. maybe get laid.”

a defeated groan leaves your lips. this call wasn’t to ask if you wanted to go, it was to let you know you were going. “if i go, will you drop it?”

“absolutely.”

throughout the next couple days, shiro starts settling down in your apartment with much more ease than you’d originally expected. the electronic litter box? he only bat at it once before he got the hang of it. he didn’t try knocking any of the little plates you had, didn’t demand much other than being walked at exactly 6:36 p.m.

that, and well, he’d chosen to sleep in the room next to you. the tempurpedic bed was situated right on the foot of your bed, leaving shiro with little space between the two of you. he’d taken to watching some of the shows you’d put on tv like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you—despite that he couldn’t see them all that well.

the last week had been nothing but bliss for satoru, getting to relax from his responsibilities at zen’in and learn more about the shy neighbor. and then came friday.

“i’m gonna leave on finding nemo for you, okay? pretend they’re a seafood boil or something.” the bright colors were some he could finally see, the shape of the fish visible. you looks over to see you’d left out your outfit for the night, one that would for sure warrant attention and a couple stares.

he had to act fast.

despite your earlier insistence, you find yourself excited to go out with your friends for the night. maybe not to get laid. but to get your mind off satoru once and for all, to quit obsessing over every conversation you’d shared. you even find yourself lighting up a few candles and tossing a bath bomb in the water.

the tight dress you’d managed to get on discount from your last trip to the mall is now in scraps, adorning your bedsheets like red confetti. it was supposed to be a sinful sight, hugging your curves like a second skin, not a risk of a public indecency charge.

your eye twitches at the scene in front of you, turning to look over at the culprit. if he were a dog, you’re sure his tail would be wagging at this very instant.

but no, the white ball of fur stares up at you with an expression you could only describe as defiant, his paw reaching out to claw at the scraps once more. you scoop up the remains of your dress the best you can, dialing shoko’s number.

“i won’t be able to show up.” shoko senses the seriousness in your voice, much more serious than your usual excuses, and decides to let it slide. inviting you to the next one and assuring there weren’t any worries.

on a friday night at 11 pm, you find yourself watching finding nemo with an overly possessive cat and flavored water instead of tequila. not exactly your ideal way to spend a perfectly good evening—watching your the cat swat at every fish that popped up on the screen, but it wasn’t that bad. it was better than being in a pair of uncomfortable heels and waiting to be approached, that much was certain.

shiro, the stubborn ball of fluff that he is, refuses to lay down on the finest bed petsmart could offer. choosing instead to plop right in the middle of your bed, licking his paws like he paid all the bills in this apartment. you tried nearly everything, from setting him down on the bed to trying to coax him in with a squeezable. and yet, nothing worked.

eventually, you settled for having shiro sleep on your bed for the night.

"can you scoot over?" you found yourself reluctantly asking, waiting for shiro to move over. the cat in question merely blinked up at you, letting out a lazy meow. he didn’t move. not even when you tried to nudge him, when you tried to push him away. you settled for sleeping on the edge of the bed, nearly dangling off the mattress.

but even if you don’t cuddle with him that night, at least you didn’t go out. that’s enough to have him sleeping peacefully throughout the night.

———

you're not sure if your wet dreams have come to life or if you're hallucinating, but satoru gojo's sprawled out on your bed. shirtless with a cinnamoroll blanket covering his lower body. he’s blissfully asleep, the morning sun peering in through your curtains almost making him seem ethereal.

his limbs are sprawled out, his back turned to face you. a couple muscles ripple underneath his movements, few beauty marks painting his skin like a constellation. his hair’s tousled, you have to be dreaming, you have to be d-“OW!” okay, that pinch felt a little too real to be a dream.

still, you’re not certain what else could possibly explain what satoru’s doing butt ass naked (allegedly) in your bedroom. he slowly begins to stir, a lazy yawn leaving from his lips.

"morning," he speaks up, his voice a low rasp in the early hours of the morning. probably from going the past few days without saying anything other than 'meow.' still, he acts as if nothing's amiss. like waking up in your bedroom is something ordinary.

you blink slowly, still waiting for the off chance that cameras are coming out from the corner to zoom in on your face. 'prank!' there are no cameras. just the light hum of your air conditioning in the background, the soft sunlight bathing the room golden, and the dip of your mattress where satoru's laying at.

with shiro nowhere to be seen, the pitter patter of his paws against the hardwood floors nowhere to be heard. "w-what are you doing here?" you manage to speak up after a few seconds, pulling your blanket closer to you.

it sounds so ridiculous you can't help but believe him. you still expect to see shiro pop his fluffy head in through your bedroom door, but the cat never comes. “i dunno why i transformed back, must’ve been naoya’s dumbass…” he murmured to himself, making mental notes about the experiment.

"but i thought you didn't like me,” you suddenly speak up in the middle of his spiel, a small pout on your lips. “i thought you didn’t like our conversations, that you were just doing out of pity.”

"i don’t do anything out of pity. i looked forward to every single one of our conversations," satoru moves closer, taking your hands and intertwining them with his. the small contact shouldn't have your heart beating against your chest. “even with your garbage on my shoes, i liked you.

“let me show you just how much i like you.”

the first kiss you exchange with your neighbor happens gently, a soft brush of his rosy lips against yours. his forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching for any hint of uncertainty within your face. he doesn't find any. the only thing he finds is the same kind of unabashed want that courses through his mind.

only then is that he finally leans in. your eyes flutter shut, your nose bumping against his when you lean in. "whoops," he lets out a little groan, his lips jutted out into a small pout. a quiet laugh leaves your chest, your fingers moving to the back of his head, nails raking against his undercut that has his dick stirring underneath your covers.

"take as lon-” you're instantly shut up by the feel of his lips against yours, a confession stronger than words could convey.

every slow peck of his lips moving lower and lower feels like its own act of devotion, of reverence. his hands move down your sides like he's holding an antique, goosebumps on your arms when his fingertips slide underneath the material of your pajama shirt.

his fingers glide up, tracing your navel like a fine line before moving up. he cupped your breasts in his hand, his thumb rubbing against your peaked nubs. his mouth was everywhere it could reach, kissing your collarbone before moving down. “prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he all but lets out a moan, his lips latching onto whatever skin he could, “best thing i’ve ever tasted, too.”

your thighs press together, cunt fluttering against nothing but the material of your panties. satoru slips off your shirt, a small whistle leaving him at the sight of you. “just like i said. prettiest thing ever.”

his lips latch onto your tits, your back arching like a bow underneath the swipe of his tongue against your areola. his thumb rolls and squeezes against the other, giving both the same kind of attention. saliva drools from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut in complete bliss.

“show me how you touched yourself to the thought of me, princess,” he breathes against your neck, pulling away to pepper kisses against the sensitive skin. you shiver against each one, attuned to every single movement of his mouth.

“is this for science?” you find yourself asking, head cocked to the side.

“yeah, strictly for science.”

your fingers pulled down your pajama pants along with your slick ridden panties, pushing them off your legs. tentatively, you spread to show yourself off to satoru. the sight makes him lick his lips, your puffy folds slick and dripping just at the thought of him.

his cock twitched at the sight, precum dripping and smearing onto the covers. the thought of having you to himself was overwhelming, to have you enveloped around him, but he needed to wait. patience was a virtue, after all.

you move your hand down your body, moving torturous inch by inch before you finally reach your dripping cunt. you don’t touch yourself immediately, your fingers run down your inner thighs, squeezing and rubbing against the sensitive skin. “thought about your big fingers doing this instead,” you admit through a breathy moan, “your hair buried between my thighs, tickling against me while you ate me out.”

satoru lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes focused on how your fingers now move to your folds. you swipe your slick up and downnn the expanse of your cunt, rubbing some of it onto your clit. “what else about my fingers?”

you rub your fingertips against your folds, smearing more of yourself onto them. “thought about you doing t—ah!” two of your fingers dip inside, wetness coating them down to your knuckles, “—this.”

your fingers move in and out of your sopping cunt at a slow pace, opening yourself up in front of him. head falling back against the pillow, you curl your fingers justtt right, hitting that spot almost two inches in. “pictured y-you just like this,” you moan out, hips bucking against your fingers, pushing them even deeper. you imagined that wouldn’t be a problem for him.

satoru brings your damp fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the slick sticking to your fingers. he wrapped his lips around the two digits, letting out a muffled moan as he bottomed down to your knuckle. a little too good. he swiped to taste every drop that remained on your digits, savoring it with much more ease than the salmon treats he’d been eating these past few days. “so perfect. look and taste good, let me taste you, please?”

“y-yeah, go ahead.” satoru doesn’t move immediately, staring at your pussy like a fine piece at a museum before kneeling in between your legs. just like in every fantasy you’d had so far. you’re tempted to shut your legs, growing bashful underneath his critical stare.

but he simply pries your legs apart with his hands, leaving you like a meal on display. “let me say thank you for my food first,” he clears his throat dramatically, “bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become gasoline in the car that took your mom to the hospital to give birth to you.”

he moves to take off his glasses before he delves in, only to be stopped by your hand wrapping around his wrist. "keep them on," the request left you before you could think twice, adding a quiet, "please."

satoru gives a short nod before he moves like a man starved, his tongue swiping across your slick folds. your hand flies down to his hair, tugging at the snowy white strands. each breath he inhales through his nose fogs up his glasses, his eyes fluttered shut as his nose nudges your clit.

“f-fuck, just like that, satoru!” your hips buck into his eager mouth, his tongue flicking in and out of your gushing cunt. he slurps every drop you’ve spilled, spitting it back out before lapping and sucking it back again.

his hips buck into the mattress, getting off on every shaky breath, every moan, every tug of his hair. two of his fingers take place of his tongue, much thicker and longer than yours. you drip around his fingers, filthy squelch after another echoing with each thrust of his fingers.

gojo’s tongue circles around your clit, alternating between sucking on the throbbing nub like his favorite lollipop or rolling the pink muscle in a variety of shapes. his fingers curled, tips hitting your g-spot with each push of his fingers. “so, so good, just wanna stay here forever,” he babbled, drunk off the taste of you (a much better substance in his opinion), “gonna make you my wife, at this rate. don’t even have to move that far.”

your toes curled, the grip you had on his hair now iron tight. “j-just next door,” you babble, equally drunk off pleasure. you feel that familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen, your cunt clenching around his fingers like a second heartbeat. the pressure built built built up with each swipe of his tongue, with each push of his fingers, before it reached its peak.

“c-cumming, gonna cum,” you let out a warning, your cunt doing most of the speaking regardless. your orgasm washes over you merely seconds later, coating his lips and his fingers in your release. he laps it away like a man starved, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation before pulling away.

you taste yourself when he leans into kiss you, a kiss full of saliva and tongue and teeth and everything the first one wasn’t. while that one had been gentle, a means to explore your feelings towards one another, this one was sloppy. a kiss of pure want and need, kissing you like you’d fade away if he didn’t. like he needed the contact as much as the oxygen entering his lungs.

"please sweetheart, need to feel you, i'll make you feel you so good, i promise." having you cum over his fingers isn't enough for him. he wants to bury himself inside, feel you clench around his cock, coat it with your slick.

you reach out, sliding his glasses off the bridge of his nose. you wiped them off with the utmost care in the world before setting them down on the table next to you. “need you just as badly, ‘toru.” if he were a snake, he would’ve already been hypnotized by how sweet your request sounded, a much better charm than a flute.

he didn’t hesitate in pushing the covers off his lower body, exposing himself fully to you. he was more muscular than you’d expected, his biceps rippling as he shoves the blankets away. his body’s littered in a few freckles here and there, the prettiest of constellations. a white trail of hair leads you down to what is possibly the best dick you’ve seen.

you didn’t expect for one to look this pretty—much too accustomed to the ones taken in low exposure rooms, toes curled at the end of the photograph. but no, satoru’s pretty in every sense of the word. his dick’s long—8 or 9 inches if you had to guess—curving to the right. the tip’s a flushed pink, dripping splat after splat of precum onto your sheets.

he doesn’t give you much time to admire, though. he’s already wrapping a hand around the base, swiping the tip against your folds. nudging it against your clit. up and down, letting your slick coat the head before he slowly pushed it inside. pushing against that initial ring of resistance.

“biggg stretch, there we go,” a hiss escaped from his lips, feeling your walls squeeze against him tightly. he had to close his eyes, refusing to look down at you. he knew that if he did, that would be all it would take for him to bust.

satoru placed your legs on his shoulders, slowly starting to move his hips forward. pushing inch by inch inside with each thrust, up until he could see his tip bulging in your lower tummy. he starts off slow, his hands gripping your waist while his cock retracts.

your walls stretch to accommodate to the size, taking the mold of his cock so fucking well. he grinds against you deep, letting you feel every inch of him before he pulls away. it’s what you need at first—to be able to take him in, but you find yourself growing needier with each one.

“toru?” your voice broke him out of the trance, hazy blues meeting your own glazed over gaze.

“yes, baby?”

“you can go faster. wanna feel you, please.” every last bit of his self control snapped then.

satoru broke out into a cheshire like grin, making you instantly regret your ask, “y-yeah, anything for you, sweetheart.”

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

the sound of your skin slapping against his own, the sound of your moans and his shaky breaths filled the room, mixing in with the heavy stench of sex and your headboard smacking against the thin walls. satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into you while he used your cunt how he pleased.

“that fast enough for you, baby?” satoru taunted, a smirk on his face. the sight in front of him was nothing short of perfect—from the way your jaw fell taut, drool leaking out from the corner of your lips with each punishing thrust. all the way down to the way your tits bounced, each bounce nearly putting him in a hypnosis.

“yes yes, fuck!” your hands dug into the bedsheets underneath as a lifeline, something to cling onto. you could even feel the slight curve to the left, each vein grazing your walls.

“y-yeah? you’re feeling good? just need you to feel good, fuck, fuck, you just keep milking my dick, it’s all yours.” you could only nod in response, his cock drilling out every thought. your walls squeezed around him, toes curling against his back. you didn’t have to give him any warning this time—he simply knew.

“so good, so good,” you babbled like a broken record, his dick hitting your g-spot like a target. bulls-eye every time. your legs wrap around his waist, holding him tightly against you. his hips snap into yours with fervor, your nails digging into his back in the most delicious way possible.

“suck for me.” satoru prodded his thumb against your bottom lip. you instinctively parted your lips, swirling your tongue around it and sucking on it. all while keeping your eyes on him. he could’ve sworn you were trying to kill him now. his thumb glistened with your saliva when you pulled away.

“ah fuck! keep going, keep going!” satoru rubbed quick circles against your clit, his own thrusts starting to grow sloppier and sloppier. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each push of his hips, one of his feet propped up against the mattress for an angle that had your eyes rolling back.

“n-need to feel you cummin’ around me sweetheart, need you to do it first,” satoru whines against your neck, your walls tightening around his shaft. his thumb rubs against your swollen clit, each snap of his hips sloppier and quicker than the last. “cum for me, please. need to feel you, need to make you feel good.”

your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, walls snug against every inch. his hips stagger and stutter, unable to keep up. his balls grow heavy, his chest heaves, each thrust pushing him closer to cumming. but he can’t think about that—you come first.

the pressure this time grows with a vengeance, much more brazen than your last orgasm. your back arches off the bed, chest pressed against his. your lips part into an ‘o,’ “gonna come, satoru, gonna cum gonna cum!” your orgasm spurts out of you, soaking him and his shaft completely.

satoru kisses you again, his tongue moving in synchrony with yours. “not gonna last, pussy’s too good, f-fuck!” snowy strands dust across your face, a moan slipping into your mouth as he cums. white spurts paint your insides, his release filling you to the brim and then some.

he slips out of your pussy with a 'pop', shoving back the cum smearing down your thighs in milky trails with two thick fingers. he moves around your bedroom with expertise (you suppose that's warranted), running a rag under your bathroom sink. he wrings out the excess water before he moves back in between your legs, his touch featherlight as he wipes away at your thighs.

the bed dips when he lays down, one of his hands splayed out across your middle. strangely enough, this feels much more intimate than the moment you’d just shared. he holds you close, kissing the top of your head. “i meant what i said, i really do like you, neighbor.”

“you’ve been balls deep inside of me. are you still calling me neighbor?”

that makes him pause. “fair point.”

“but, i really do like you too,” you let out a yawn, snuggling closer to him. he’s warm, akin to a human furnace, “i think i’m gonna miss shiro though.”

"if you miss shiro so much, i'll put on a pair of cat ears and meow for you, sweetheart," satoru muses, drawing a couple circles against your thigh with his finger, “quit my job and become your personal cat.”

you smacked the side of his arm, your laugh bubbling like champagne. it feels warmer than the sunlight he's bathed under, it's the sweetest sound he's heard. "i'll hold you to that."

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