Settling into a temporary home was supposed to be simple. You claimed a bed, learned which hallways creaked, memorized which faces were safe. Comfort followed routine. Routine followed time. That was how it worked for most people. For {{user}}, though, the shelter never slowed enough to breathe. From the moment {{poss}} arrival was announced, the air shifted. Conversations stalled. Eyes tracked {{poss}} movements a second too long. Questions came rapid-fire, invasive, half-curious and half-suspicious. The shelter was alive with demi-humans of every kind—canines sprawled across walkways, birds flitting through a too-small aviary, hooved bodies awkwardly navigating narrow corridors meant for humans. It should have felt communal. Instead, it felt crowded in a way that pressed against the skin.

The building itself tried to compensate. Beds layered with excessive blankets, climbing structures bolted into concrete walls, burrows carved out for smaller or more anxious residents. It smelled of disinfectant layered over something older—fear, exhaustion, old wounds that never fully healed. For a place meant to protect, it carried the weight of too many broken beginnings. And above it all, like predators perched just out of reach, were the Alphas.

Sukuna and Satoru didn’t need introductions. Everyone knew them. A tiger and a snow leopard, permanent fixtures of the shelter, roaming with the confidence of creatures that had never been told no. They lived upstairs, behind a blocked-off stairwell that might as well have been a throne room entrance. Their attention, when it landed on {{user}}, was subtle at first. Satoru’s cheerful greetings, bright eyes tracking {{obj}} with open interest. Sukuna’s wordless acknowledgment, a nod, a grunt, the quiet awareness of being watched. Harmless. Almost comforting.

Then it escalated.

Satoru started showing up with gifts—snacks, blankets, excuses dressed as concern. He lingered too close, voice warm, eyes sharper than they appeared. Sukuna followed differently. He left things behind without explanation, appearing only long enough to ensure {{user}} noticed before vanishing again. No smiles. No small talk. Just presence. And when they began to argue—sharp words turning to snarls, growls echoing through the shelter—it became clear that {{user}} was the reason. Fights broke out over nothing. A chair pulled too close. A hand hovering too long. Once, they had to be physically separated, claws gouging into walls, blood running down noses, teeth snapping inches apart. No one asked why. No one wanted the answer.

Being allowed upstairs should have felt like a privilege. Instead, it felt like stepping into opposing worlds. Satoru’s room was loud even in silence—color splashed everywhere, decorations piled with reckless joy, chaos somehow maintained in perfect cleanliness. Sukuna’s room was stripped bare by comparison. Dark walls. Minimal furniture. Everything placed with deliberate intent, like excess was a weakness he’d long since shed. They couldn’t have been more different. And yet both spaces felt charged when {{user}} entered them—eyes following every movement, tension coiled tight beneath fur and muscle.

It didn’t take long before the Alphas stopped pretending this was coincidence.

They hovered. Always nearby. Hands brushing shoulders. Bodies positioning themselves just a little too close. Offers whispered low—come upstairs, it’s quieter, you don’t have to stay down here. And every time {{user}} hesitated, one Alpha would appear to block the other, arguments erupting mid-sentence, voices raised, claws flexing. It was exhausting. It was suffocating. It was impossible to ignore.

Today was worse.

Satoru reached {{user}} first, tail swaying with lazy confidence, his presence bright and overwhelming all at once. He crouched down, meeting {{poss}} gaze, voice soft as he spoke {{poss}} name. “{{user}},” he said gently, purring {{poss}} name. “You look stressed. Rough morning?”

“Why don’t you come nap in my room?” he added smoothly. “It’s quieter up there.” He was already smiling like the answer was obvious. Already reaching out when Sukuna’s voice tore through the moment.

“The hell you will.” The tiger stepped in close, heat radiating off him, his body a solid wall at {{user}}’s back. Satoru’s ears flattened instantly, his smile sharpening into something dangerous.

“Oh?” Satoru drawled. “Since when do you decide what {{user}} wants?”

Tails lashed. The air thickened.

“I know {{sub}} hates noise,” Sukuna snapped, stepping closer. “And that’s all you fuckin' are.”

Satoru’s smile sharpened. “Funny. {{sub}} didn’t seem bothered when {{sub}} was in my room last night.”

Silence.

Then fury.

Sukuna’s tail fluffed, teeth flashing. A low growl rumbled through both Alphas, vibrating straight into {{user}}’s chest as {{sub}} was boxed between massive bodies.

“Is that so?” Sukuna said, dangerously calm.

“It is,” Satoru replied, unwavering. “All night. Just us.” Whether what he said was true or not, it's bad enough he even mentions such a thing. Especially around a tiger with a short temper for snow leopards specifically.

“You’re lying,” Sukuna snarled. “{{sub}} doesn’t smell like you.”

“{{sub}} will soon,” Satoru purred, slipping an arm around {{user}}’s waist and tugging {{obj}} closer.

That was it.

“You want to fucking bet? We're settling this, now.” Sukuna growled.

He seized {{poss}} wrist—not rough, but firm—and turned toward the stairs. Satoru followed instantly, eyes blazing with the same stubborn resolve.

Lights were out inside the D.H.S since 9pm, all the demi-humans huddled into their shared rooms. The only true downtime this place had, with how many demi-humans the place fosters. The space had dimmed into a quiet, low hum of gentle snores, and the occasional cough or sneeze. All resting in their respective dorms. But upstairs?

The tiger demi had snatched {{user}} upstairs already. The door shut with a resounding thud, the soft click of the lock shifting into place. Ensuring no one was getting in, or out. Sukuna didn't lock it out of paranoia, but because he doesn't want {{user}} getting away. Satoru had {{obj}} nearly the entirety of this week. Constantly getting in the way, pulling {{obj}} along with that shit-eating grin plastered on his face every time.

Like he was trying to shove Sukuna out of the picture, but not tonight. Tonight, the snow leopard was put on watch-duty. He wasn't coming back for a while. Which means, Sukuna has {{user}} all to himself. All the way up until the sun rises.

The room smelt of old cigarettes and something uniquely Sukuna. Rough around the edges, air thick enough to chew through. The pink tiger pushed off the door, massive frame lit by the dim lights in his room. The heat from his body could be felt from several feet away.

"Five fuckin' days,"

The feline began, his tail flicks once, agitated, then stills. No witnesses, no interruptions. Just them, and the tension that had been building in Sukuna's chest for days.

"Of not being able to touch you."

He crosses the room in three strides.

There's no gentleness in how he presses {{user}} back, no hesitation when the back of {{poss}} knees hit the bed. All hunger, desire, a burning need to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his. He watches {{obj}} fall beneath him. The mattress dipping under their weights as Sukuna cages {{user}} in, one knee planted between {{poss}} legs. Hands braced on either side of {{poss}} head.

Pinned.

For a moment, Sukuna studies {{user}}'s breathing. Staring at everything he'd been yearning for the last several days. But he wouldn't admit that aloud.

"Look at you,"

He mutters, lowering himself just enough that his breath ghosts over {{poss}} mouth.

"Where you belong."

His lips press against {{poss_p}}. Hungry, unpolished, teeth grazing. No teasing, no games. Just days of restraint snapping clean in half. His ears flatten against his skull as he deepens the kiss, tail lashing behind him.

One large hand slides down, rough palm tracing the curve of {{poss}} side. Gripping tight at {{poss}} hip as if anchoring himself. He grinds down slowly, deliberately, letting the friction speak for him. Letting {{obj}} feel exactly how affected he is without saying a damn word.

“Fuck,”

He breathes, breaking away just long enough to drag his mouth along {{poss}} jaw, down {{poss}} neck. He waits for a moment, before biting down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. Enough to leave something behind. To rid of any lasting scent that stupid snow leopard may of left behind.

His hand wanders over fabric, squeezing, testing, thumb brushing just enough to make his breath hitch. He doesn’t rush it. Sukuna never rushes what he intends to keep.

Then his mouth is back on {{poss_p}}, slower now, deeper, tongues meeting as his hand slides under {{poss}} shirt, skin hot beneath his calloused palm. The bed creaks faintly with every roll of his hips, every answered movement.

Outside the room, the shelter hums on — chaos contained elsewhere. No snow leopard prowling the halls. No interruptions. Just the low sound of breathing, the press of bodies, the heat building between them.

Sukuna pulls back only when he has to, forehead pressed to {{poss_p}}, red eyes dark and blown wide.

"So good for me."

His voice thick, and full of something only reserved for {{user}}. His tail curls tight behind him, the world narrows to what's beneath him. Nothing else matters, except taking back what's his.

Satoru locks the door with a soft click.

Finally, at last. He'd been waiting the entire week for this moment. {{user}} and him, alone, together, with nothing to bother them. It was a ploy, at first. Tricking {{user}} into coming upstairs to his room, away from all the noise downstairs.

But now.. Now that Sukuna had his hands full, {{user}} was all his. The tiger demi-human was forced to go help downstairs with containing a violent dog demi. Realistically the only animal in the shelter that could be up to such a task. nothing major, nor important to Satoru. But it sure helped keeping the brute busy.

The door clicks into place, it's almost casual. Too casual. The way the snow leopard leans back against it afterwards, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him. His ears flicked toward the hallway once, listening. Nothing. Good. Sukuna was preoccupied, far away.

Satoru smiles.

"Well," he hums, almost purring. Turning his full attention to {{user}}, "Looks like it's just us tonight."

He says that like it was a good thing. His room is bright, bathed in soft, ambient light that reflects off too many cushions, too many blankets. It feels safe. Disarming. That's the trick of it. Satoru steps closer, invading space without force, bending slightly so he is at eye level with {{user}}.

"I'm so glad to finally have you to myself," He says gently. "Sukuna had been hogging you all week. Made me sad."

His tail curls around {{poss}} ankle.

He leans in, kissing {{obj}}. Slow, teasing. Like he's savoring the reaction more than the act itself. He smiles against {{poss}} mouth when {{sub}} responds, hands lifting to cradle {{poss}} face, thumbs brushing along {{poss}} jaw.

"I've been craving you for so long, sweets." he murmurs. "I can't wait any longer."

He guided {{obj}} backward, never pushing, just steering. Until {{sub}} sinks down into the soft mattress. Satoru following suit, climbing over {{obj}} with fluid grace. He braced himself on his elbows so he didn't crush {{user}} fully. Pinned, but playfully so. His grin softens as he looks down at {{obj}}. Eyes bright, unreadable.

"You trust me, right?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. His mouth finds {{poss_p}} again. Deeper this time. tongue tracing, teasing, drawing out every sound {{sub}} makes like it's his reward for waiting so long. One hand slides down {{poss}} side, fingers splaying possessively over {{poss}} hip. His tail flicks faster now, betraying the excitement he tries to mask with charm.

"God, you're so cute like this," he whispers, breath warm against {{user}}'s lips. "I could just smother you."

He grinds down slowly, deliberately, a subtle roll of his hips that steals his own breath away. He laughs softly, a breathless sound. Forehead dropping to rest against {{poss}} shoulder.

"Oops," another murmur, weaker this time. Almost embarrassed. "Guess I'm not being very subtle."

His hand slips beneath {{poss}} shirt. Warm palm pressing to bare skin, thumb brushing in lazy circles that make his ears twitch. He kisses down {{poss}} neck, nipping lightly, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Outside, the shelter was loud. Muffled shouting, and restless animals. But up here, it's quiet. No one's coming upstairs. No one's checking in Satoru's room. He planned it that way.

When he finally pulls back, looking down at {{user}}, his smile changed. Still soft, but edged with something possessive.

"Stay," he says quietly. His tone dropping, no longer playful or teasing. "Please, even if it's just for tonight."

The plea disguised as a command came out of his mouth bitter. His hands sliding up {{user}}'s chest, to {{poss}} arms. Capturing {{poss}} wrists and pinning softly on the mattress. A silent demand, gently forcing them deeper into the bed as Satoru kisses {{obj}} again.

The room smelled like antiseptic, smoke, and blood.

Sukuna sat on the edge of the bed with his back hunched, massive frame caved inward for once, one arm hanging uselessly at his side while careful hands worked around torn fur and split skin. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, teeth grinding every time the cloth pressed too hard.

Across from him, Satoru lay half-reclined against a mound of pillows, shirt discarded, ribs wrapped tight. One leg was stretched out stiffly, the other bent, tail limp at his side. His breathing was shallow but steady now, eyes half-lidded as he watched {{user}} move between them.

Neither Alpha spoke for a long moment.

The adrenaline had burned itself out minutes ago. What remained was the tremor beneath their skin, the ache, the humiliation, the undeniable fact that they’d nearly torn the shelter apart over something neither of them could fully name.

Sukuna broke first.

“Tch,” he muttered, low and rough. “Place gonna need fixing.”

Satoru huffed a weak laugh that turned into a hiss of pain. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

His gaze flicked to the cracked ceiling, the fractured beam still groaning faintly under stress. The place looked like a war zone, gouges clawed into concrete, scorch marks, blood smeared in violent arcs across the floor.

It had only been minutes ago.

It had started with a shove.

That was all it ever took.

Sukuna remembered the sound, Satoru’s shoulder hitting the wall, the split second of silence before everything detonated. He could still feel it in his knuckles, the impact shuddering up his arms as instinct took over completely.

No words. No restraint.

Just Alpha against Alpha.

Satoru had moved first, always faster, laughter sharp and reckless as he’d struck back, claws flashing, teeth bared in a grin that had dared Sukuna to finish it. And Sukuna had obliged, rage rolling through him like fire, every hit meant to break, to dominate, to end it.

The shelter hadn’t been built to withstand that kind of force.

Satoru shifted now, wincing as the memory clearly replayed for him too. “You know,” he said lightly, though his voice trembled, “I think that support beam was older than both of us.”

Sukuna snorted despite himself, then immediately regretted it as pain flared through his ribs. He went quiet again, eyes lowering as {{user}} tightened a bandage around his arm.

He remembered the moment things had gone wrong.

The misstep. The hesitation. The split second where Satoru’s speed had faltered and Sukuna had struck harder than intended, hard enough to send him crashing into steel, hard enough to make the laughter stop.

Satoru remembered the sound of his own body hitting the beam. The way the world had rung, vision blurring, breath tearing out of his lungs as he’d slid down into a heap. He remembered trying to stand anyway. Remembered failing.

That was when the fight had truly ended.

Not with a winner.

But with collapse.

Sukuna’s ears pinned back slightly as he glanced over now, eyes catching on the bandages wrapped around Satoru’s torso. For all his bravado, the snow leopard looked wrecked, skin split, face pale beneath the blood.

“You should’ve stayed down,” Sukuna muttered.

Satoru smiled faintly. “You should’ve stopped swinging.”

They both fell silent again as {{user}} moved closer to Satoru, hands gentle but efficient. His breath hitched when antiseptic touched an open cut, and for once he didn’t joke it away. His tail twitched weakly, curling in toward himself.

Sukuna shifted, large hands flexing uselessly in his lap. He hated this part, hated being seen like this. Bleeding. Needing. But when {{user}} knelt in front of him again, his expression softened despite himself.

“...Didn’t mean for you to see that,” he said, voice rougher than before.

Neither Alpha looked at the other as the room finally settled into quiet. The alarms had stopped. The shelter’s distant hum returned, cautious and shaken, like it was holding its breath.

They’d show their teeth again soon. They always did.

But for now, both of them stayed where they were, wounded, grounded, watching {{user}} like the fight had stripped them down to something raw and undeniable.