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Ryoumen Sukuna swore the universe was conspiring against him.
Freshly graduated, degree still sitting in a frame at his mother’s apartment, he should have been busy securing interviews, polishing résumés, and impressing companies with his sharp tongue and sharper looks. And he was doing all of that—at least, technically.
But somehow, against his better judgment, he was also spending a lot of his energy on something else. Or rather, someone else.
His next-door neighbor.
Gojo Satoru.
An omega. Twenty-three-year-old Sukuna should not have been hovering at the boundary of obsession over a thirty-three-year-old man. He had told himself that multiple times. Age gaps were one thing. But the man wasn’t just older—he was older, widowed, and raising a five-year-old son on his own.
The rational part of Sukuna screamed don’t do it. The instinctual alpha part of him—the one that kicked in every time Satoru’s sweet scent drifted from the balcony into Sukuna’s window—told him go claim him.
And that alpha part was winning.
Every single day.
The trouble was Satoru wasn’t exactly easy prey.
He was gorgeous, of course, almost unfairly so—snow-pale skin, icy hair that somehow glowed under Tokyo’s dull city lights, and eyes that could burn or freeze depending on the day. But he was also… sharp. Unapologetic. Not afraid to tell an eager, younger alpha to shove his courting attempts right back into his pants.
Sukuna respected that. Hell, he liked that.
Which was exactly why, despite rejection after rejection, Sukuna kept trying.
Flowers left at his door? Satoru let them wilt on the counter but didn’t throw them away.
Helping carry groceries? Satoru scolded him for overexerting himself, then let him carry them anyway.
Dinner invitations? Half declined, half accepted—with an eye roll and the faintest tug at his lips.
It wasn’t much. But to Sukuna, those small cracks in Satoru’s armor were proof. Proof that he wasn’t entirely unwanted.
And then there was the other problem.
The brat.
Mahito.
Five years old, all spindly limbs and too-big eyes, with hair the color of silver-blue steel that marked him as Satoru’s through and through. He was fiercely attached to his omega parent and even more fiercely hostile toward anyone who dared to hover near them.
Especially alphas.
Especially Sukuna.
The kid had hissed at him, kicked at his shins, and thrown toy cars at his knees like he was trying to knock him out of the gene pool. Sukuna had tried bribery (sweets), games (soccer in the courtyard), and even polite avoidance. None of it worked.
And today, apparently, Mahito had decided to escalate.
“Morning, snowflake,” Sukuna greeted, leaning casually against the hallway wall as Satoru fumbled with his apartment keys, a grocery bag hanging precariously from his wrist.
“Morning, brat,” Satoru replied dryly, though the corner of his lips quirked.
That tiny, fleeting smile was worth more than a job offer from the biggest company in Shinjuku. Sukuna reached to grab the bag from him—because of course the omega was balancing too many things at once—and brushed his fingers against Satoru’s knuckles. Just a second, just enough.
And then—
Sharp pain.
On his ass.
“FUCK!” Sukuna yelped, spinning around and nearly dropping the groceries. “What the—?! Did your spawn just—?!”
Mahito was there, grinning with all the feral pride of a wolf cub, little teeth bared as if he’d taken down prey. And from the sting in Sukuna’s backside, he really had sunk them deep.
“I bit you!” the pup announced triumphantly. “Stay away from Mama!”
Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mahito—”
Sukuna, however, was already half doubled over, rubbing at his ass with a scowl. “You little devil spawn! I’ve been scratched, kicked, and pelted with Legos, but biting?! Are you trying to give me rabies?!”
“Maybe,” Mahito said sweetly, and bolted back inside the apartment.
Sukuna groaned. “Fucking hell. I’m bleeding, aren’t I?”
Satoru peered at him, utterly unbothered. “If you are, consider it a warning bite. You’ve been circling too close.”
“Circling?!” Sukuna spluttered. “Snowflake, I’m trying to—”
“Woo me? Court me? Mate me? Yeah, I noticed.” Satoru plucked the groceries out of Sukuna’s hands with practiced ease. “And apparently, so did my pup. He’s just making sure you know your place.”
“My place?” Sukuna growled, rubbing harder at the sore spot.
“Yes,” Satoru said breezily, stepping inside. “Outside. Good luck.”
The door shut in his face.
Sukuna stood there, glaring at the wood like he could burn a hole through it with sheer alpha indignation. His pride hurt more than his ass. Barely.
Another day, another attempt, he thought grimly. Another rejection.
And still… when he pressed his fingers to the bite mark, when he thought about Satoru’s faint smile and sharp tongue, when he remembered the way those blue eyes softened for a second before the door closed—
He decided tomorrow, he’d try again.
Even if the brat went for his throat next time.
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End.