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Gojo Satoru, 16 years old, second year of highschool, 1,87m, sweet tooth, Sagittarius, Snake, is an alpha.

His best friends, Geto Suguru and Ieiri Shoko, are both betas and so they couldn't care less about whatever it is he’s talking about when he talks about how everyone in the Gojo family is an alpha, a rare trait, for a whole family to be composed of alphas, or how he, at least, can subdue his own instinct at will. Unlike others with second genders.

They nod their heads and congratulate him and go about their day, exorcizing curses and accidentally setting fire to Yaga’s car.

'I wouldn’t want to be one,' Shoko says, trying on Gojo’s new pair of glasses. They’re normal, like all of them. Look better on her than him, but she wouldn’t tell him that or he’d cry.
'Would you rather be an omega, like Utahime?' Gojo asks her, taking back his glasses and sticking out his tongue at the thought.
'No. I’m fine being like this. I wouldn’t want to be under the control of something or someone else.'
'Only omegas are under the control of someone else,' Suguru says. 'Right? They have to obey their alphas every command.'
'I know that,' Shoko says. 'But when an alpha and an omega mate, they obey each other. There’s no telling which one is in charge,' she smiles. 'A bunch of nonsense, if you ask me.'

Gojo laughs.
'That’s only for the common folk. I told you, I can control it at will.'
'I feel sorry for whoever your partner is.'
'It’ll be an alpha. As he said, everyone in—'
'Everyone in the Gojo family is an alpha. Yes, I got that.'
'That’s right. So it’ll have to be. Right, Satoru?' Suguru asks. Somehow, Gojo gets the impression that they’re mocking him.
'So in that case it doesn’t matter, right? Since two alphas can’t order each other around?'
'What if you meet your fated partner, that’s supposed to be an omega, and your legal partner, the alpha, gets in the way? Do they have to fight to the death?’
'One,' Gojo says, numbering with his fingers, 'fated partners are a fairy tale, and two,' he lifts another finger, 'members of the Gojo family do marry omegas. But those don’t carry the Gojo name nor are considered part of the clan.'
'So what, your mom isn’t a Gojo?'
'My father. And no, he isn’t.'

Suguru and Shoko look at each other. 'Clan politics are absurd, almost as absurd as second gender bullshit.'
'What if a Gojo is born a beta or an omega?' Shoko asks.
'That wouldn’t happen.'
'But what if it did?'
'I’m telling you it wouldn’t! Now let’s go get lunch, I’m starving. Is second genders that interesting to you two?'
'You started it.’ Suguru shrugs his shoulders.

Gojo Satoru, 16 years old, second year of highschool, 1,87m, sweet tooth, Sagittarius, Snake, is an omega.

When he was born, the bloodwork gave back an unexpected result, so his mother, who had stupidly married for love against her father’s wishes, silenced the doctor and the nurses for good. Gojo family members had their partners chosen with extreme care, and so had Gojo’s mother. An excellent omega woman from a lesser known clan. Gojo’s mother had taken one look at her and decided she’d be more than pleased with the match. And then, as if the world really wanted to fuck with Gojo Satoru himself, she had met Gojo’s father, a low level sorcerer with civilian parents and that was that for the politically beneficial union.

After the birth, Gojo’s father and the child were banished to a guest house where only she could visit, and when relatives came to see the heir to the head of the family, she only let them see the child for short periods of time. She got away with this because Gojo Satoru had been born with the Six Eyes, the most coveted technique in the clan, and she explained this was for the child’s protection.

Once he was old enough, his mother told him he was an alpha, and that’s what he would always be, like her, like her father before her, like her father’s mother, and her father’s mother’s father. A whole long line of certified alphas.

It was when he broke his leg climbing a tree and the servants took him to the hospital that he learned the truth. His mother made sure the doctor and nurses who saw to his broken leg, the radiographer included, and the servants, never spoke this truth, or any other, again, and she explained he must never visit a doctor other than the one she allowed him to. And he must continue to tell everyone, absolutely everyone, that he was an alpha.

Even his father, who shared his second gender and knew the truth, never spoke to him as if there was something he could teach Satoru. When Satoru had his first heat, and he writhed in pain in a nest he made out of his own clothes and bedding, in one of the rooms in his father’s guest house, waiting for the suppressors to take effect, rutting against a soft pillow between his sweaty, thighs wet with slick, his father said nothing. He wasn’t even offered a glass of water. Not even the next day when he appeared at the breakfast table, eyes puffy from crying, and legs wobbly from unsatisfying orgasms and his first explorations at clumsy fingering his hole, smelling exactly how the books and the internet said omegas smelled. He was just told to bathe in salt water, two tablespoons of vinegar and peels of mikan added in, and to go back to the main house if the suppressors had already taken effect.

But then, once he unlocks the exciting truth of his full power, once he understands the entirety of the world and achieves what he likes to believe is akin to enlightenment thanks to a certain zero-cursed-energy Zenin reject, a beta at that, he realizes it doesn’t matter. He’s been able to suppress his heat cycles by sheer will since he turned fifteen, and now he doesn’t even need pheromone blockers. When the time comes, his family will wed him to a carefully chosen mate, likely a beta so no one harbors any undue suspicion, and he will produce an heir that will be alpha. Or better yet, he’ll wait for one of his cousins, he’s got that by the hundreds, to produce an heir and he’ll live his life however he wants to, and people will think he’s just one of those alphas that cannot be tied down.

‘Fushiguro Megumi-kun, right?’
‘Who are you?’ the kid asks. ‘Why are you making that face?’
Two reasons. ‘You look just like him,’ Gojo says. And this kid is an alpha. He can tell.

Unlike his cursed technique, his second gender hasn’t manifested yet, but Gojo can see it, all the signs. He swallows down bile and presses his teeth into a smile. Of course the Ten Shadows would go to an alpha, it’s the only technique that can surpass his.

‘Are you sure you’re a first grader?’ the kid, alpha spirit, certainly, is so much tougher than he expected. He’d thought, seeing that look on Toji’s face as he died, he’d find a weak, soft boy with bruises on his knees and tears welled up in his eyes. 
Instead, the kid, lone wolf and cub all in one, looks him up and down and says he’d never go where his sister cannot be happy. An alpha must protect its pack.

Alright, then, Gojo thinks. Perhaps he can teach this kid to will his alpha silent, like he’s done his omega, and he’ll never have to think about second genders and all that laypeople stuff again.

--

Wrong.

Absolutely, terrifyingly wrong.

Fushiguro Megumi, 11 years old, fifth grade in elementary school, 1,50m, no preferences as to food, Capricorn, Horse, is an alpha.

Not only that, but something about his proximity causes Gojo’s suppression of his own omega to falter. It hasn’t been disrupted, yet, but he’s started taking pharmaceutically developed suppressors again, just in case. The strongest money can buy. He’ll spend as much as he has to. It’s not a matter of what the Gojo family will believe, there’s nothing they can do to him at this point, him being the head, and it’s not a matter of how people will view him, even though he has tried grappling with his upbringing and found it too difficult so he left it alone. Now, it’s entirely a matter of not letting Megumi win. Because he knows. Megumi would absolutely, terrifyingly use this to make him bow down completely.

Though sometimes he thinks he wouldn’t mind. He can easily picture Megumi stepping on his fully clothed hard cock, looking down on him with the same stone cold eyes he used to look down on people with. He would look down on Gojo in disgust. And Gojo would writhe on the floor, arching his back, mouth fully open, tongue sticking out, saying Yes! at the top of his lungs.

No. No, no, no. Absolutely, decidedly, no.
Megumi is a child.

He buys stronger suppressors and learns to be away from home when his suppressed heat should roll around, just in case. If he starts collecting Megumi’s old clothing it’s for both of their sakes. It’s not like he hangs on to those unconsciously and on instinct, he can control his omega much better than most people can control their hands.

__

Fushiguro Megumi, 15 years old, third grade in junior high, 1,73m, no preferences as to food, Capricorn, Horse, is an alpha.

As of today, Christmas Eve, 2017, he knows two things:

Gojo Satoru, 28 years old, teacher at Jujutsu Technical School, 1,91m, sweet tooth, Sagittarius, Snake, is an omega.

And, he is in love with Gojo Satoru.

When he met the man he would fall in love with he didn’t expect this turn of events. It isn’t often that children visualize themselves falling in love with teenagers who will subsequently help care for them for the rest of their lives. But, even so, he did not expect this turn of events.

It hadn’t been sudden, he knows now, but a gradual downhill glide that had culminated with him holding Gojo in his arms while Gojo nuzzled his neck, inhaled the scent that was uniquely his. An alpha’s scent glands.

Since Gojo took him under his wing, he was under the impression that Gojo was an alpha. It was what he had heard others in the Jujutsu world say. He couldn’t be sure Gojo himself had ever said it, but how could there be any other answer? He knew, as did anyone who knew of the most prominent families, that all Gojos are alphas. And Gojo was the tallest person he knew, perhaps the tallest in all of Japan. Common sense dictated omegas be short. Though that itself was stupid, because he knew many alphas and omegas who didn’t fit the norm, as he knew people whose first gender didn’t fit the norm, either. Common sense is stupid. And now that he thinks about it, he really never heard his mentor say it himself. He just assumed. But, at the same time, his mentor let him assume. They never really discussed the issue at length, other than Gojo asking Megumi if he wished to learn how to suppress his instincts, to which Megumi replied he wasn’t sure.
But then Gojo asked:
‘What if you’re in battle and an omega starts sending out these crazy feel good fuck me pheromones? What d’ya do then? Are you just gonna go mate with the first omega that bares their neck at you?’
Megumi accepted.

‘Gojo?’ he says, tentatively, and softly tries pushing Gojo, so that he can look at Gojo’s face. With the blindfold on, he can’t see Gojo’s eyes but his cheeks are dusted pink, as if he’s running a slight fever, and his scent glands are swollen, Megumi can see them even with the high rise neck.
‘Gojo, are you alright?’
‘Mn’ Gojo practically moans. As if this woke him up, he pushes Megumi away and he stumbles, his knees visibly weak, legs shaky.
Megumi extends out his arms and Gojo holds on to them, and he bends his stomach, just a bit, his back arching.
That’s when the scent hits him.
As soon as it does, Megumi realizes.
It’s sweet and soft, but heady, too, like a really sweet liquor, like plum and honey wine, or sweeter still, strawberry lilac wine. It goes straight to Megumi’s cock and all he can think of is to push Gojo down. He could even just order him to get on all fours for him.

If he had known when he was younger, he would’ve. Not to ravish him, no, but because of how thoroughly Gojo annoyed him.

He imagines his ten year old self commanding Gojo to kneel and his mentor, helpless, kneeling for hours, days on end. He imagines his ten year old self commanding Gojo to shut the fuck up, too. That would’ve saved him a lot of headaches, a lot of pain.

That’s not what he wants now. He wants something else, something fierce, something he would never forgive himself for, even if Gojo begged for it, slick dripping down his thighs, bucking on his hands and knees, which Megumi suspects he would, gladly. He shivers.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gojo says. 
Megumi nods.
‘Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.’ 
He considers telling Gojo to set down a towel on the couch before sitting but he knows his mentor. He knows that would probably get him even more aroused.
‘I have some, mn, pills,’ Gojo’s voice is breathy, a purr. ‘I keep them in the bathroom cabinet. The bottle of aspirin.’
Megumi nods. He doesn’t feel like telling Gojo it’s dangerous to leave a bottle full of omega suppressors in a bottle labeled aspirins in plain view. What if he or Tsumiki had taken one for a headache? But he knows now it’s not the time. And he’s not even sure an omega suppressor would actually have any negative effect on him or on a beta like Tsumiki.

He remembers the breathing exercises Gojo taught him and he’s able to will his alpha back down, all the raring to go feeling repressed, tucked back inside, leaving a knot in his stomach.

Gojo probably taught him all of that for his own sake, more than Megumi’s. But Megumi’s grateful for it now. He’s still trying to come to terms with the entire situation.

He throws the bottle at Gojo from the bathroom door, keeping his distance as much as possible. Then he walks to the kitchen to make good on his promise of tea. Once there, he holds onto the counter for purchase, his knuckles white, his cock throbbing with the memory of Gojo’s voice, of Gojo’s scent. How he could live this long beside this man and not notice, he does not know.

He can’t tell how long it’s been but after a while he realizes he can’t smell Gojo anymore, not even a trace. His erection calmed down now, he makes his way back to where he left him. He had to make another tea, the first one gone cold.

‘So,’ Gojo laughs, scratching his hair. The sheen of sweat on his forehead is gone but his hair is still sticky and gross. He took off his blindfold. ‘You know now.’
Megumi nods his head.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What makes you think you had a right to know?’
‘I--’
Gojo laughs. 
‘It’s a whole thing. You know. Well, you don’t. But don’t mind it. Just forget it.’
‘What happened?’
‘I think, I couldn’t hold back because I--Nothing really. I’m sorry.’
‘I mean, what happened,’ Megumi points to the blood on Gojo’s uniform, the specks of blood on the white blindfold in his hands.
Gojo hangs his head.
‘My best friend. I killed him.’
‘Your best friend,’ Megumi repeats.
He hates the taste of the words. He hates this man, whoever he is. He hates that he’s dead so it can’t be Megumi who kills him. He doesn’t recognize his own thoughts, scattered and jumbled up. He hates that it was this man, this man’s death, that made Gojo so vulnerable he exposed himself. What if it had been some other alpha who saw him like this? Someone who didn’t know Gojo the way Megumi knows him? What if it had been some stranger, who wouldn’t understand him, not at all, not the way Megumi does, who didn’t share an entire lifetime with him, a bond so deep it had no name. No. No one else could claim him. Gojo was his, meant to be his. If not for the irrational fear he felt at the thought that if he claimed him now, that man, that best friend, would still be on Gojo’s mind, he would’ve. He would’ve rubbed his scent glands against Gojo’s, and bit and suck on them, until they were empty and impossibly swollen, until not even the suppressors could help him, until Gojo was panting, tongue out, slick leaking through his clothes, begging to be filled, pleading for Megumi, promising he would do anything.
Gojo nods, unaware of the thoughts plaguing Megumi’s mind.
‘You can ask me all you want, Megumi. You know that.’
Megumi knows that. He also knows that if he asks now and the story is what he doesn’t want it to be, he won’t be able to hold back. He simply nods.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Mm. I feel better now. Thank you, Megumi, you’re so good to me~’
Megumi swallows hard. He says nothing.

Later, he googles what effects omega suppressors can have on alphas and sees that they would work as an aspirin. He smiles to himself and realizes it wasn’t Gojo’s scent, nor their second genders recognizing each other and urging them to mate. It was Gojo himself. He’s in love with Gojo Satoru.

___

Yuji Itadori, 16 years old, first year of high school, 1,73m, lover of junk food, Pisces, Horse, is an alpha.

Kugisaki Nobara, 15 years old, first year of high school, 1,60m, into trendy stuff, Leo, Horse, is also an alpha.

She makes mention of it when she finally meets the other two students in first year.

‘We’re all alphas?’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Yuji says. ‘Maybe it has to do with Jujutsu?’
‘Like Sorcerers are all alphas, or something?’
Yuji nods.
‘Do you know if it’s true, Fushiguro?’
‘I don’t think so?’ he says. He pauses. ‘Maybe. Gojo sensei is one too.’

He says this by mustering up all the calculative nature in himself. If the other two believe their teacher to be an alpha, they won’t unconsciously try to feel around for his scent. When an alpha knows someone is an omega, things get out of hand. Even if the alpha says he isn’t interested, the way he looks at the omega changes. That infinitesimal change leads to heightened awareness. That, then, leads to feeling out for scent. And this all could lead to Fushiguro’s ruin. So he offhandedly tells them a white lie, so they won’t  feel awkward around their teacher. So they won’t do something stupid they’ll regret for the rest of their lives.

But then Itadori dies and comes back to life and Fushiguro realizes Gojo spent far too much time with Itadori alone. Unsupervised. That was risky. That was dangerous. That was plain stupid. He really is too carefree, too careless, he skates through life thinking it’ll all go his way because he’s Gojo Satoru, the strongest.

Fushiguro likes Itadori, he would, if pressed, describe Itadori as his best friend, and he wants Itadori’s happiness almost as much, actually possibly more, than the person himself. But he does not want Gojo with Itadori. He does not want Gojo begging for Itadori to fill him up, crying, whimpering, writhing with his tongue lolling out, about to pass out from the emptiness of his heat, with Itadori Yuji’s name on his lips. No.

So he does what he has to do.

Except, Gojo decides to go MIA the exact same week Megumi’s made up his mind. He didn’t even tell Megumi where the Hell he was going on mission this time.

Megumi feels like kicking a can. If this were an anime, there would be a can ready for him to kick, precisely placed on his path. But instead there’s the pristine walkways of the school and Ijichi walking to the garage, holding a paper bag, and acting suspicious.

Hm.

‘Fushiguro kun, d-do you need anything?’
‘Do you need help?’
‘N-no. Not at all.’
‘You seem nervous. Are you sure everything’s-’
‘Everything’s fine! I’m just going to Gojo’s apartment! Thanks!’
‘Wait a second. You’re going to Gojo sensei’s apartment?’
Ijichi’s about to melt into a puddle of inefficiency and shame. Gojo will kill him this time, both him and Megumi know. But Megumi could kiss him, could build a shrine to his name.
‘Take me.’

As he hears the door click open, Gojo wants to yell at Ijichi, berate him for taking so long, but he knows that if he opens his mouth all that’ll come out will be breathless moaning. Ijichi has no idea what Gojo asked him to bring or why and he knows the fool is too scared of him to actually pry, or to disobey his orders of leaving the package by the door and leaving and never once setting foot in his apartment again, so help him God.
He’s wrapped up in old sheets that still smell like Megumi when he lived at home, and a couple of Megumi’s sweaters that he grew out of and asked Gojo to discard for him, and he’s got one of Megumi’s shirts bunched up under his nose while he spreads himself, his fingers sliding out of his hole from all the slick, and he keeps rubbing his erection against a pillow but finds no satisfaction in orgasming. He’s sweating and feverish and borderline delirious, so much so he thinks he smells Megumi in his apartment, when the door opens. He thinks he smells sage and sandalwood, the musky undertones of Megumi’s sweat after battle. He’s going insane, tears run down his cheeks when he closes his eyes and he repeats Megumi’s name like a chant, biting down on the shirt. He knows somewhere in his room there’s something bigger, better to fuck himself with than his own fingers but he can’t will his legs to move when all he feels is the desire for Megumi to take him, to pull on his hair, forcing him to arch his back and take him even deeper, He says Megumi’s name over and over, stutters it between panting, and he comes again, breathless, spilling all over his sheets and feeling no better.

He hears the door to his room open and he burrows deeper into his sheets. 
‘Ijichi,’ he sounds so breathless but perhaps he can pretend it’s anger, ‘you fuck, don’t come any closer,’ he’s whispering in a low tone. ‘I’ll fucking bite your dick off, you-‘ Satoru stops because that’s not Ijichi’s nothing-smell. It’s sage, it’s sandalwood, it’s a rainy day deep in the forest, the grass right after the rain has stopped. His heart’s beating so fast it’ll knock out of his chest, and more slick drips down his thighs, all the way round his balls.
‘Sensei?’
It’s Megumi’s voice. It echoes and hums inside of Gojo, going straight to his cock, causing his hole to twitch, leaking even more.
‘Megumi,’ Gojo’s voice is as steady as he can force it to be, given the circumstances. ‘Leave, now.’ A shuddering breath escapes his lips and he has to stuff his mouth with Megumi’s shirt.
‘But you were calling for me.’ Megumi’s voice is hoarse and tense.
Gojo moans. He has nothing more yet he keeps coming, thrusting erratically into his cupped hand, fingers curled up inside his hole. Megumi’s voice is undoing him, vibrating to the very core of his being, which right now is concentrated halfway between his cock and his hole. He clenches his muscles around his fingers and lets out another muffled moan, tears run down his cheek, and he lets his tongue hang out, mouth gaping, drooling.

‘Megumi,’ he says, peering from under the fluffiness of his nest. He can smell Megumi’s arousal. He can see Megumi struggling to stay in place.
‘Are those my clothes?’ Megumi asks. His uniform is baggy enough that it’s only his underwear his erection has to strain against.
Gojo moans again, long and coming from deep within his stomach, lower. He nods, smiling, his tongue lapping up sweat, drool, and tears. Megumi can see all of his teeth.
‘And your old sheets. Gross, huh?’
Megumi’s hardly breathing.
‘How long?’
Another groan, and more rutting against the pillow between his naked thighs. His scent, sweet plum wine, strawberry and lilac, is so thick and intoxicating Megumi thinks he must be drunk on it. He never wants to sober up.
‘Since you first--’ Gojo’s whole body trembles. Megumi hears the sheets tearing, Gojo’s gripping them that hard.
‘I see.’ Megumi walks around the bed. Gojo keeps his eyes on him, turning his head to keep watching him when Megumi walks behind him. ‘I see now.’
Gojo bites down on Megumi’s shirt. It’s all wet now, with his saliva.
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’
But he’s not expecting an answer. He extends his index finger and runs it all the way up the back of Gojo’s thigh, from the bent of his knee to the start of his cheek. His leg is so long and muscular, it's shining with slick. He can feel Gojo trembling, his skin erupting into goosebumps.
Megumi finally notices his own hand is trembling too. He stopped doing the breathing exercises at some point, and has shifted entirely into his flehmen response, teeth bared, neck stretched, and his tongue clicking against his palate.
‘Megumi?’
‘I’m--’
‘Drinking me in?’ He doesn’t sound as flirtatious as he thinks he does. It’s desperate, like he’s reading lines off a badly written script.
But it’s enough for Megumi to let go of the last thread of hesitance. His last pinch of self control. He can’t even be bothered taking off his clothes, or opening his mouth, he unzips his pants, palms his cock a couple times, then collects a handful of slick from Gojo’s thighs, from his hole, and rubs his cock in it. His flehmen response is such that he’s hissing through his teeth. He gets on the bed, kneeling behind Gojo who’s been stretching like a cat, chest against the mattress, nails digging into the bunched up, sticky, sweaty sheets.
‘Yes, yes, yes, please’ he’s saying.

Unlike the shitty porn his middle school classmates would watch on their phones, Gojo’s not crying, he’s not submitting, he’s not acting like some dainty virgin whose only purpose in life is to be bred by his alpha. Gojo’s mouth is wide open, his ridiculously confident, cocksure grin keeps it like that. His tongue is sticking out, swirling up and down, and he keeps trying to keep the drool from dripping down his chin, unsuccessfully. There’s nothing meek or bashful about him.

‘Megumi, if you don’t fuck me right now--’
‘You what?’ Megumi pulls on Gojo’s hair, just like Gojo had always dreamt he would. Like this, Gojo’s face and Megumi’s are level, since Megumi’s hips are against Gojo’s cheeks, and he’s bent over his teacher. Megumi’s cock is hard against the cleft of Gojo’s ass, but there’s no pressure. ‘What will happen if I don’t fuck you now, sensei?’
‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill myself, I’ll--’ Gojo’s breath hitches because Megumi pulls back on his hair even harder. ‘I’ll level the whole of Japan--’
‘How dare you? Should we all be at your mercy? Who do you think you are?’
‘I’m me, Megumi, please, fuck me, now, do it, or--’ Gojo’s laughing, manically, drool dripping, his words around Megumi’s shirt. He’s probably bit through the fabric already.
Megumi presses the tip of his cock against Gojo’s entrance, slowly.
‘I don’t feel like torturing you, but it feels like I’ll lose if I fuck you when you tell me to.’
‘Then don’t, don’t fuck me, leave me here, go, ahah, please, Megumi, just don’t fuck me, then.’
That’s even more annoying.
‘Stuff the shirt all the way down your throat and don’t speak.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Gojo says, all too happily.
‘You know this kind of shit only works if you act like you don’t enjoy it so much?’
Gojo nods like an idiot, like a doll with a bobbing head. He gags on the shirt for a second, because of all his nodding, and he wants to cough, spit it out, but he can’t. He loves this too much. He pushes back with his hips, come on, Megumi, he wants to yell at him, aren’t alphas supposed to take without asking, go for it. This much is, already, more than Gojo ever allowed himself to dream. Even if Megumi shoves his cock inside of Gojo and comes instantly because he’s just a teenager and those orgasms never last long, he’ll be so satisfied he’ll feel like his life so far has been worth living. He wants to say a prayer for Toji’s dead soul. Thank you for blessing me, Otosan.

That’s exactly what happens, actually.

As soon as his pulsating, impossibly hard cock slides past Gojo’s rim, Megumi feels himself about to come, and the only reason he doesn’t is he wills himself to last long enough to thrust all the way to the hilt, balls against Gojo’s hot, wet skin. Soon as he does, he’s spilling inside Gojo, and Gojo’s moaning around the shirt. The gagging is so jarring, Megumi pulls the shirt out of his mouth and Gojo screams, he keens. He pushes his hips back so Megumi will go even deeper, not that that’s possible.
‘You’re too nice, Megumi, I love you, I love you so much, I’m so--’
‘Shut up,’ Megumi says. He bites down on the back of Gojo’s neck. ‘Don’t say anything.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Gojo says, drooling pathetically, smiling so widely his cheeks are pinched, stinging.
He only stops biting once he tastes blood. Once he realizes Gojo’s heartbeat has calmed down. He can tell because he could feel Gojo’s pulse through his cock buried deep in Gojo.

Gojo falls asleep almost immediately.

Megumi’s tempted to leave him as is and go back to school, so Gojo will have to go after him, beg for him. But he ends up wiping Gojo down with a damp cloth. He cleans all of Gojo’s body. He finishes wiping Gojo’s forehead clean and he gently runs his fingers through Gojo’s soft hair.

He finally looks closely at the things on Gojo’s bed, Megumi’s old bedsheets, the top futon he used to use when he was in middle school and he slept over at Gojo’s place, clothes he hasn’t worn in years, and some he only stopped wearing months ago. Even his old middle school uniform shirts. He frowns looking at this collection of Megumi memorabilia. He can’t stop himself from feeling such unmistakeable tenderness that he thinks he won’t ever let Gojo leave. He won’t ever leave this place himself.

He knows from songs and stupid movies that love is supposed to be painful, it’s supposed to hurt. It takes you to the highest heights and the lowest lows and all that bullshit. He knows from songs and stupid movies. He didn’t actually think any of it was true. He didn’t actually believe those words, there’s such a thing as artistic license, who’s to say the entertainment industry didn’t invent that myth? Love is pain so buy our album to soothe it a little.

He wishes he’d never learned. He doesn’t want to feel like he can’t let Gojo sensei ever leave this room, ever leave him, that he’d be willing to break his legs to keep him from ever leaving Megumi. But he does. He’s so angry at himself, tears well up in his eyes.

It’s because of that that Gojo opens his eyes.

‘Hey, no, Megumi, oh, no,’ he says. He reaches out his hand but retracts it. He’s afraid to touch Megumi. ‘I’m sorry, Megumi. I took advant--’
‘Shut up!’ Megumi says.
Gojo does. He could help it, if he put the effort into it. But he doesn’t want Megumi to hate him even more.
‘I’m not crying because of that. I just--’
Gojo waits for Megumi to continue but he doesn’t.
‘What is it?’ he asks. He puts in the effort and finds it’s not all that hard, for him, to break an order from his alpha.
‘Never leave me. If you leave me, drop dead. That’s a command.’
Gojo gasps. He smiles, lazily because he’s still tired, full of Megumi, but blissful.
‘If you leave me,’ he emphasizes, ‘I’ll drop dead.’
Megumi looks at him. He frowns. Slowly, it turns into a smile.
‘Idiot.’
‘I can’t believe I’m lucky enough that Megumi loves me.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I love you too, Megumi. So much.’
‘I know. Now sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.’