Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The moment that everything started going wrong went something like this:

It was the day before the Kyoto exchange event. Yuuji had just come back to life. With some minor humiliations, he'd even earned the forgiveness of his friends. He was sitting in a classroom with Kugisaki and Fushiguro, still blissfully unaware of how his life was about to change. The three of them chattered on about nothing in particular as they waited for Gojo-sensei, characteristically late as always, to turn up for their last afternoon class before the event.

That was when the heat struck Yuuji. A shock of divine lightning from above.

When he gained consciousness again, he was on the floor and the fever was starting.

“Did he forget his suppressants?” Kugisaki hissed. She sounded nasal, like she was pinching her nose.

“No, he’d never. He has an alarm every morning.” There was Fushiguro’s low voice. “I saw him in the bathroom taking one today.”

The conversation happening above him was murky, like he was hearing it through water. His body was on fire. He shifted, wincing. Every tug of his uniform against skin was exquisitely painful. There was a sudden flare of heat in his core, then a gush of liquid between his legs.

“Ugh.” Yuuji heard Fushiguro swallow loudly. He could smell a sudden spike in the other boy’s natural scent of black cloves and leather. “Fuck, I can’t…I have to leave the room.”

“Coward,” Kugisaki threw out, although her voice, too, sounded tight. “Grab someone, will you?”

There was the polite sound of the door sliding open gently, then shutting again.

Yuuji felt a hand against his forehead. Although his eyes were squeezed shut, and the touch was oddly gentle, he knew it was Kugisaki by the wave of refined bergamot that rolled over him.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay,” she said. “I mean, you better be,” she added, a little meanly.

Yuuji could only whine in response. He felt the mouth of a water bottle against his lips. He gulped at it gracefully, draining the contents. “Can…can you collar me?” he rasped.

Kugisaki clamped her hand around the back of his neck. “Like that?” The heat in his body softened, slightly placated by the touch of an alpha. He nodded faintly.

Unfortunately, the effect didn’t last very long. By the time the door opened again, he was completely incoherent.

Later, he was told that when Inumaki and Panda—the only two Tokyo campus students who weren’t alphas—rushed into the classroom, they were met by Kugisaki baring her teeth and hunched over Yuuji.

Leave, Inumaki had to order her multiple times, before she finally skulked from the room. Apparently, she had fought him with every step.

Panda lifted Yuuji as though he weighed nothing at all. “Don’t worry, Itadori,” he said cheerfully. “We’re taking you to Dr. Ieiri.”

“Furikake.”

Yuuji drifted in and out with the gentle rocking motion of being carried.

When he next woke, he was laying in a soft bed.

His nose twitched. A tinge of smoke was in the air.

“Hi, Itadori.” A soft voice spoke above him. “You’re going into heat, obviously.”

Yuuji could only groan. The fever had spread across every limb.

“Sorry, I know it hurts.” There was a pat to his leg. “I gave you a fever-reducer. I also tried the strongest intramuscular rescue med I had, but it doesn’t seem to have done much.” There was a deep exhale. “Hope you don’t mind that I did a little chart biopsy, too. It looks like you’ve never had a suppressant failure before, and you’ve been consistent with your annual withdrawal break. Also no history of dyshettorrhea. Is that correct?”

Yuuji nodded faintly. His mind was really only processing every third word but it all sounded about right.

“I think this might have something to do with Sukuna,” the voice continued. “It seems like holding his soul inside your body may have destabilized your own hormone cycle. That’s most likely what triggered this breakthrough heat, and the reason that it’s much more intense than normal.”

Yuuji finally cracked an eye open. When he blinked away the blurriness, he saw the solemn face of Ieiri Shoko hovering above him.

“What…” Yuuji cleared his throat. “What should I do, then?”

She sighed. “Sorry, Itadori. I can give you some meds to ease the pain, but you’ll likely just have to wait it out like any other heat.”

She drew something up from a vial using a syringe, and then gave it a couple taps.

“Oh, and don’t worry. We’ll keep you far away from your classmates, too.” She clicked her tongue. “It’s not your fault, but they’re going stir crazy over you right now. Small pinch.”

There was a jab at his thigh. Numbness radiated out from the site of injection. With relief, Yuuji felt his consciousness fade away.

-

“Where is he?”

It was the third time Satoru had asked. With each repetition, he had only grown more irritable.

Shoko hummed and dropped her still-smoking cigarette butt into a cup of coffee. Somehow, the bitter tobacco could not overpower the lingering bright citrus and pine that Yuuji left behind. Satoru’s nose twitched.

“I really don’t think I should tell you,” she said lightly. “You didn’t see him.”

“Uh huh,” Satoru said flatly. “Which is exactly why I should—”

“No,” Shoko interrupted. “What I’m saying is, you didn’t see him. You didn’t see how his two yearmates both lost control over nothing more than his pre-heat pheromones. One left the classroom almost immediately and still was on the verge of going into rut before I had Maki shoot him up with a rescue med. The other had to be ordered away from Itadori with cursed speech. She’s still nonverbal and pacing the room we locked her in.” She shook her head. “Something isn’t right.”

“And you’re saying Sukuna probably has something to do with it.” Satoru leaned over her desk. “That’s all the more reason I should be nearby. What if Sukuna planned this, and he manages to take over Yuuji's body while he’s in heat?”

“I’m not telling you where he is.”

Satoru stood up with a screech of the chair. “You know, I don’t actually need you to tell me,” he said. “It’ll just take me slightly longer to track him down myself. You might as well spare me the time.”

“Satoru,” Shoko said softly. “You know this is a terrible idea. Honestly, I’m starting to think you've already been taken in by his scent too, and just don’t realize it.”

“I’m so flattered that you think I have about as much self control as two teenage alphas.” He swept down his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be fine.” Never in his life had he lost control over an omega’s scent before.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko lit another cigarette. “And will you take responsibility if you’re wrong? If you hurt him?” 

“It’s going to be fine,” he repeated.

“Don’t do it, Satoru.”

“He’s my student,” Satoru said, with a cold smile. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

-

It ended up taking twenty minutes of stalking through the school for him to find Yuuji.

Shoko had stashed him in one of the basement hideout rooms on the west side of campus. It was a solid idea. The room was already furnished with a bed, a bathroom, and even a tiny kitchenette. It was essentially identical to the one that Yuuji had occupied for the past few weeks while he was pretending to be dead, except for one thing: the military-grade scent-proofing.

Nonetheless, it was child’s play for Satoru to follow the scent of citrus and pine right up to the door. The trail was almost an hour old at this point, but with his senses, he’d have been able to track Yuuji down even if a full day had elapsed.

For all his bravado, the faint residue of pre-heat pheromones was enough to get his body thrumming. But his mind was clear.

He knew he was being overprotective. Of his students, he worried about Yuuji most of all.

It wasn’t just because he was the only omega student at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Yuuji was in a uniquely delicate position. Not only was he Sukuna’s vessel, he was also living under a suspended execution order that Satoru himself bore. After he had refused to carry it out, he had equally pushed against any attempts to assign it to someone else. Admittedly, he had been a little overly aggressive that meeting. He’d made some threats. Something along the lines of: I’ll kill anyone who puts a hand on that boy. He certainly hadn’t made it better when he’d released the full brunt of his pheromones against the top brass. He heard later that two of them had collapsed.

Thankfully, everything had finally settled into an uneasy balance. He’d been admonished by Yaga and Shoko for his reckless behavior.

But what else could he have done?

Itadori Yuuji was powerful, sure, a natural sorcerer, etcetera. But more than that, he was a joy to be around. Certainly a gift to the undeserving, dour, alpha-dominated sorcerer society Satoru had grown up in. It would be an enormous waste to lose Yuuji to petty politics and paranoia.

To Sukuna. 

He came up on the door to the basement. He took a deep breath to steel himself, although it only served to fill his lungs with more of that bright scent.

Abruptly, he realized his heart was racing. 

Get a grip, Satoru, he thought.

He would step in for just a moment. Just long enough to lay eyes on the boy and make sure he was okay.

He entered the intervening airlocked chamber and locked the first door behind him. With a wave of his hand, a targeted jolt of cursed energy, he forced open the second entrance.

That was the last thing he remembered, before he lost his mind entirely.

-

Where is he?

It was the only question that mattered to the alpha. He prowled through the small space, drawn by the scent. God, that scent. Although he was not lucid enough to access his own memories, he was certain that he had never encountered one like this. With every breath he took, the hunger grew. He licked his lips.

The scent led him to a locked room at the far end of the hall. As he approached, he heard a cry sound out. It was the omega, calling out in the unmated modulation.

Not that it would have mattered in the slightest if he had been mated. If he knew anything at all, this alpha knew that he was the strongest. He would have ripped apart anyone to get his hands on this omega, and taken great pleasure in doing so.

He opened the door, snapping the lock with careless effort.

The sweet scent grew a hundred times stronger.

And—god, there he was, curled up in the center of the bed like a present.

The omega.

Either he or someone else had already stripped him down, for he was bare as a newborn. He lay in a damp circle, pale hair darkened with sweat, clearly delirious with fever. Two fingers were buried in the dripping slit between his legs.

The omega’s eyes fluttered open. He called out again, weakly, with obvious relief rolling over him. Finally, an alpha to take away the pain. To take care of him. To impregnate him, as nature had intended. How fortunate he’d attracted one this powerful. Just the strength of his pheromones alone was enough for the omega to tell: that cold ozone, the electric air after a thunderstorm…he was certain there was no other alpha alive who could compare with this one. Lucky him. 

The alpha closed in quickly. He buried his head in the omega’s neck and inhaled, scenting him in return. Found him overflowing with ripe, fragrant fruit, lush greenery, and beneath that, something mineral-rich and bloody, like the fertile earth itself. He was like a spirit of spring. Every chemical constituent of his scent came together to signal: pick me, take me, I'm ready to eat!

He was perfect. 

The alpha pushed his legs apart and entered him in one rough motion. The omega let out a plaintive whine, suddenly tense with animal fear. Nothing of note to the alpha. Without further ceremony, the alpha started to fuck him in earnest.

Any loud, feral sounds that rang out from the room were cleanly silenced by the insulation of the basement. 

The omega, still fevering, drifted in and out of consciousness. Time passed in a strange haze. Every time he woke, the alpha was above him, fucking him. Sometimes, he found he’d been repositioned: onto his belly and knees, his side, then back onto his back, nearly bent in two. The alpha moved him over his cock with ease, with a grip like iron. He filled him over and over again, only to harden back to fullness in no time at all and keep going.

The omega could do nothing except receive his due. When he was awake, he moaned and writhed and even cried but he did not resist. It never even occurred to him to fight back. The primitive part of his brain, the one in control, told him he wanted this more than anything. That this was his sole purpose for being alive. It pumped him full of hormones, silencing all pain and leaving only the great and terrible pleasure. Nothing else mattered.

That would all come later.

-

Yuuji woke in pain.

For a moment, he could do no more than take deep, practiced breaths. No training in memory had ever left him this sore and battered. His back hurt. His neck throbbed. And his ass, holy fuck.

He realized could think again. The fever had passed.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered was Dr. Ieiri’s face above him, the pinch in his thigh. Cautiously, he tried to move, and found he could not.

Someone was inside him, locked in tight.

Someone was inside him.

He panicked and instinctively tried to jerk away. Pain bloomed again, shooting all the way up into his throat.

An arm shot out and wrapped around his stomach. Whoever was inside him, they didn’t want to come out.

“No,” Yuuji gasped. “Get off, please—”

The arm tightened, then froze. Slowly, it let him go. Yuuji moaned as the person shifted behind him, eliciting another shock of pain.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Can I—can I come off? Please?”

Silence.

“What the fuck?” someone muttered, at last.

The person sat up. The motion forced Yuuji’s leg up and around until he was on his back, putting him face to face with…

“…Gojo-sensei?” Yuuji said blankly.

It had taken Yuuji a moment to recognize him. It was the first time Yuuji had ever looked him straight in the face, without the blindfold. But that gleaming white hair was unmistakable. Absurdly, the only thought that came to Yuuji's mind was that he was beautiful. Almost inhumanely so. His features were sharp and striking. His body had been sculpted to deadly perfection. And those eyes...they were a sparkling, crystalline blue—and currently fixed on Yuuji with rising horror.

“Oh, Yuuji…” he breathed. He tried pulling back as well. He found, just as Yuuji had, that they were knotted together. “Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Gojo abruptly bent over the side of the bed and threw up. “Fuck,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, no, no—this can’t be real.”

Yuuji was still staring up at Gojo, his mind strangely serene in comparison. He scratched his neck, then cringed. His skin was completely raw. He felt against his neck more gently and found a swollen mark against his nape that felt very much like… okay, no. He would think about that later.

He gently prodded Gojo’s arm. Gojo’s eyes snapped open, wild.

“Uhh, sorry,” Yuuji said. “I’ve never done this before…how long does a knot usually last?”

The answer turned out to be a painfully long time.

-

Later, it took Dr. Ieiri little more than a sniff to confirm it.

One violent heat. That was all it took. No matter that he had been shot full of contraceptives at the time.

Yuuji was pregnant.

Chapter Text

“But, you’re not keeping it, are you?” Kugisaki blurted out.

“Keep it down, Kugisaki,” Fushiguro snapped. Of the three of them, he seemed the most embarrassed that they were having this conversation in public. Not that anyone else in the cafe was paying them the slightest bit of attention. It was honestly kind of endearing.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Yuuji admitted. “But I don’t think so.”

It was unsettling to think that at this very moment, there was a…thing growing inside of him. Yuuji stared into the swirl of milk floating on the surface of his tea. It was vaguely shaped like a heart. He took a gulp, ruining it irreversibly.

“And Gojo-sensei still hasn’t shown his face to you?” Kugisaki raised an eyebrow.

Yuuji shook his head. “It sounds like he’s been busy.” That was what principal Yaga had said, at least.

“Uh huh, sure. Busy.” Kugisaki sounded unimpressed. “Too busy to come begging on his knees for forgiveness from the fifteen-year-old omega he knocked up?” Yuuji choked on some combination of a laugh and a snort. Fushiguro muttered something under his breath and sank lower in the booth. This time, Kugisaki's words had been loud enough that a neighbouring table, occupied by what looked like other high schoolers, glanced over with interest.

Kugisaki, of course, didn’t care at all. She ran a tongue over her spoon and pointed it across the table, first at Yuuji, then Fushiguro. “That’s the problem with alpha men, you know,” she said caustically. “It’s always the same with them. All they do is hit it and quit it—”

“Kugisaki!” Fushiguro was aghast. Yuuji burst out laughing.

“To be fair, I don’t think he knows about the…” Yuuji gestured vaguely, “ya know.”

“Hmm, sure. But wouldn't the normal thing still be to talk to you? Like, at least acknowledge that something happened?”

“Well…” Yuuji couldn’t help feeling a strange urge to defend Gojo-sensei. He still felt guilty when he remembered the frank horror, the devastation in his face. “This whole situation isn’t exactly normal,” he finally said.

“That’s one way to put it,” Fushiguro said darkly. His eyes drifted over to Yuuji, automatically narrowing on the back of his neck, before flicking away.

Yuuji tugged his jacket collar, wincing. The bite mark at his nape was still healing. According to Dr. Ieiri, who had fully taken over his care from his old PCP, the mark appeared to be scarring over at a normal pace. And despite the rapid-onset and abnormal intensity of the breakthrough heat, she said that the rest of him had also healed up nicely. Pretty quickly, all things considered.

When Yuuji had asked how Gojo-sensei was doing, her smile had grown fixed. “Nothing you should worry about,” she’d said, at last. To be honest, she had said almost nothing about Gojo-sensei in the two weeks since everything had happened, beyond the occasional muttered expletive.

After Yuuji had gone into heat, the school exchange event had been pushed back. For official reasons, it was reported to be due to “administrative issues”.

The real reason was that Gojo was one of the supervising teachers, and his absence had forced a delay of two days—exactly the length of Yuuji’s heat.

Yuuji, meanwhile, was excused from the event entirely. That he was on heat leave was public knowledge. The more graphic details about what exactly had happened down there were known to only a few, including his two friends, whom he’d sworn to secrecy.

Yuuji had needed a full week before he felt anywhere back to normal. During that time, he’d stayed in that hideout room, mostly sleeping and licking his wounds and…oh, who was he kidding. Missing Gojo-sensei. Hard to say if it was the post-heat hormones or not. But every other day, Dr. Ieiri would drop by to take vitals, draw labs, change his dressings, and top off his food and water. Each time the door opened, his heart would stutter, wondering if this time… Of course, it never was. Whatever. Back to sleep, was his usual solution.

And apparently Yuuji had slept through a lot during this period of convalescence.

Kugisaki and Fushiguro had caught him up on everything after. Extremely powerful rogue curses had invaded and attacked campus, forcing the Tokyo and Kyoto contingents of students to team up. They’d held them off just long enough for Gojo-sensei to break through the anti-Gojo curtain and destroy half the forest.

He’s been in a terrible mood ever since…you know, Kugisaki had whispered. He was aiming for a curse but he almost killed half of us students too.

A couple of Sukuna’s fingers and other cursed objects had been stolen in the chaos. That was now an area of active investigation, and the apparent reason that Gojo had been so busy that Yuuji had seen neither hide nor hair of his teacher ever since he’d fled as soon as his knot had subsided.

Putting aside that mess, Yuuji had mourned the lost opportunity to get to know the Kyoto students better. At least, he had been well enough to attend the baseball game.

At first, he’d had to maintain an awkward distance from his own team, as his friends adjusted to his scent. Apparently, it was now “overwhelming” according to Fushiguro, and “weirdly erotic” according to Kugisaki, who was insistent about the accuracy of her description, despite Fushiguro’s protests. Maki had only shrugged and said it didn’t bother her, although she did seem a bit tenser around Yuuji than before. Inumaki and Panda were, of course, unaffected and sweetly concerned about him.

Yuuji had not noticed much of a difference in his scent, personally. Maybe a new metallic or earthy note, which he’d initially attributed to the actual blood on his body.

However, he was more than convinced that something had changed for real after seeing the uproar from the Kyoto students (most of them alphas) when they arrived on the field and found Yuuji there.

Yuuji could never recall ever attracting this kind of attention before.

At least, most of the Kyoto students had enough discipline to limit themselves to only some obvious posturing whenever Yuuji’s eyes happened to land on them during the game. He noticed the Tokyo students doing a bit of the same. It was almost cute, except for the fact that they were all deadly jujutsu sorcerers in training and came worryingly close to maiming each other over Yuuji’s attention.

Todo, a tall, muscled third-year, had been unusually bold.

“What kind of alpha is your type?” were the first words he spoke to Yuuji, lieu of an introduction.

Yuuji had been taken aback. He’d rubbed his chin and said, “Uhh…I guess tall…with a nice ass? Like Jennifer Lawrence.”

He hadn’t had a moment of peace since then. Somehow, Todo had gotten a hold of his number. It blew up at all hours with enthusiastic texts and the occasional bizarre photo with no explanation. And he kept telling Yuuji to call him “big brother”.

Oh man. There was another one just now, popping up on his phone with a cheery jingle.

“Ugh, would you just block him already?” Kugisaki silenced Yuuji’s phone for him with a disdainful tap. “I can’t believe you’re even entertaining that gorilla.”

“I don’t want to be rude to a senior,” Yuuji moaned. “We’ll definitely have to fight by his side later. I can’t just tell him to fuck off.”

“Give it to me,” Fushiguro said quietly. Kugisaki slid Yuuji’s phone across the table. “I’ll tell him.”

Yuuji blinked.

Kugisaki let out a playful “Oooh!” She smirked at Fushiguro. “Feeling protective, are we?”

Fushiguro's ears turned red. He seemed to be getting flustered more often these days, at least from what Yuuji could see. Fushiguro glanced back at Yuuji, then scowled and dropped his eyes down to the phone again.

He typed out a rapid message with one hand, sent it, and then blocked Todo immediately after. It took literally a minute.

“It’s done,” Fushiguro muttered. “I said he can take it up with me if he wants.”

After…everything that happened, Fushiguro’s behavior to Yuuji had subtly shifted. He’d always been protective of Yuuji, yanking him out of more messy situations than Yuuji could count. But he’d always seemed so even-headed about it, even annoyed. Now, however, his earnest care for Yuuji had started actively leaking through his usual aloofness. Yuuji found it unbearably charming.

He laid his head down sideways on the table, peering up at Fushiguro, and managed to catch his eye. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. “My hero.”

Fushiguro’s face flooded with color this time. His scowl deepened. “It’s nothing.” He made a gesture towards Yuuji’s neck. “You’re due for a refresh, by the way.” His breathing had become slightly shallow.

“Oh, sorry,” Yuuji said.

“Don’t be,” Kugisaki said. She gave a deliberate sniff and sighed. “Honestly, it's really nice. It’s like I’m out in a beautiful forest right now. Fushiguro, lighten up.”

“It doesn’t affect you as much as me,” Fushiguro muttered. He shifted down the booth, closer to the window.

Yuuji gave him an apologetic look and started rummaging around in his bag for another patch.

With some trial and error, Yuuji and Dr. Ieiri had found at least a temporary solution for the apparent strength of his scent. A scent-stripping body wash, twice daily, along with around the clock use of prescription-strength, full-coverage scent-blocking patches. Yuuji went through about fifteen a day, although one was supposed to be more than enough for the average omega. It was likely another side effect of Sukuna that Yuuji saturated them so quickly. But the inconvenience was a small price to pay for being able to go around and actually hang out with his friends.

Uh oh.

“I’m out,” Yuuji said, wincing. “Sorry guys. I thought I had more but they’re just empty wrappers.”

“No problem. We should head back now, anyway,” Kugisaki said. She quickly scraped out the rest of her sundae. Fushiguro nodded, finishing his own coffee speedily too. A subtle urgency in their motions now.

Yuuji was downing the dregs of his milk tea when the shadow fell over him, along with the faint musky scent of an alpha. Yuuji looked up. It was one of the high schoolers from the booth across them. Yuuji could see the other ones, probably friends, pretending not to watch. 

“Hey,” the guy said. “I couldn’t help noticing you from over there.” Aka, he’d smelled Yuuji. Ugh. Yuuji had to be better about the patches.

The guy grinned, positively radiating alpha confidence. “You single?”

“I guess, technically.” Yuuji gave him a cursory up and down. Nothing to write home about.

A whisper at the back of his mind, from the omega: Certainly nothing compared to him… A bone deep longing rose inside him, one he’d become quite familiar with over the past few weeks. Where is he and when will we see him again? Why did he leave us? 

God, shut up, Yuuji thought. He’d never been with an alpha before Gojo-sensei. Since that moment, the omega side of his brain was suddenly awake for the first time in his life, having all sorts of strange ideas and urges. It was frankly embarrassing. He struggled to return his attention back to the guy in front of him. 

“What a coincidence!” he was saying. “I’m single, too. Can I take you out some time?” He leaned in closer, clearly breathing in Yuuji further, his pupils visibly dilating.

“No thank you,” Yuuji said. He shifted back along the bench seat.

“Aww, why?” The guy’s tone went wheedling and the patchouli scent around him grew stronger.

“Hey. Watch it,” Fushiguro snapped. "He said he's not interested."

Yuuji could smell Fushiguro too, now, peppery and smoky, pheromones growing sharp with irritation. The scents intermingled around Yuuji, vying for dominance.

The guy narrowed his eyes. “Not sure why you're butting in. You’re not his boyfriend.”

A low growl started rumbling from Fushiguro’s chest.

“Hey,” the guy said, making a point to ignore him and turn back to Yuuji again. “Ditch these two. I promise I’ll show you a good time.” He reached his hand out towards Yuuji.

Kugisaki and Fushiguro both snarled, but before either of them could get up, Yuuji’s hand whipped up and grabbed onto his wrist.

“Dude, take a hint,” Yuuji said. He flicked his eyes at his friends and gave a subtle shake of his head. The two of them reluctantly settled.

“Excuse me?” The guy was saying, offended. “Don’t you talk to me like that—" He froze as Yuuji’s grip tightened.

“Knock it off,” Yuuji said. He let loose just a little more strength till he felt bones grinding under his fingers. The guy hissed, trying and failing to tug it away. Yuuji held on a moment longer, staring up at him. The guy paled with the slow realization that Yuuji was fully capable of breaking his wrist.

“Sorry,” he stuttered.

Yuuji released him. The guy scrambled away immediately. He skulked back to his friends, tail between his legs.

Yuuji turned back to his friends, rolling his eyes. The two of them were eyeing him oddly.

Finally, Kugisaki broke the silence. “That was hot.”

Fushiguro shot her a glare—Not the time, Kugisaki—then glanced sideways at Yuuji. “Sorry,” he said, ducking his head. “I know you can handle yourself.”

Yuuji gave him an affectionate shove of the shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s bounce.”

-

“You have to talk to him. You owe him that much at least.”

“I can’t.”

Shoko sighed. She was spinning idly in her office chair. Satoru was on the—as she called it—therapy sofa. He looked quite uncomfortable, however. Instead of laying across it, he sat as though it was a regular chair, elbows on his knees, back stiff.

“I don’t care if you think you can or can’t.” Her tone was steely. “I’m saying you have to. It’s what Yuuji wants.”

Satoru groaned and hung his head. “Shoko…” he whined.

She was unfazed. “I didn’t realize the great Gojo Satoru was such a coward.”

Satoru ran a hand over his face. His fingers yanked on his blindfold and tugged it down. He looked at Shoko, eyes dark and miserable. “Why on earth would Yuuji want to talk to me?”

"Well, for some reason, despite your incredible stupidity, he still seems to like you." She took a deep draw from her cigarette, then carefully ashed it.

“And because he’s pregnant,” she added, at last.

Satoru froze.

“No. Please tell me you’re fucking with me.”

Shoko shook her head slowly. “Unfortunately not.” She gave him a sardonic smile. “Congratulations.”

“Well, fuck,” was all Satoru could say.

“I’d tell you you’re going to be an amazing father, but I’d be lying.”

Satoru was so discombobulated that it took a good long moment to register her words.

“Wait,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You’re saying Yuuji is keeping it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t speak for him. You know what you should do? Talk to him.”

Satoru knew it was true. And yet...

Disjointed memories had started coming back to him in the weeks post-heat. Each one brought Satoru a new wave of terror, revulsion, and—worst of all—guilty arousal.

It was all Yuuji. Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji. Yuuji underneath him, whimpering as Satoru forced himself into his tight, virginal body. Yuuji moaning, growing limp as he was fucked into unconsciousness. Yuuji writhing and sobbing as Satoru pinned him down onto his belly and clamped razor-sharp canines into the scent gland at nape of his neck, blood filling his mouth. Every memory was steeped in a pure, animalistic desire that somehow felt remote and familiar at the same time.

He’d proved Shoko right, and more. Never before had Satoru lost control so badly. Even in the midst of his worst ruts, he’d still kept a measure of sanity. 

How had Yuuji exerted such an all-consuming, mind-altering effect on Satoru, while his students had recovered so quickly? Shoko’s theory was that Yuuji’s altered pheromones had some sort of inverse effect where the intensity depended on the strength of the alpha.

Given what had happened, how could he face Yuuji again? Would he retain his mind if they met outside of his heat? Or would he do something unforgivable again?

Although, really, how much worse could it get? He’d already gotten Yuuji pregnant. The very thought was horrifying, at least to the sane part of his brain. Meanwhile, the primitive alpha side was purring in satisfaction. Itching to renew that mating bite. Hungry to push him down onto his belly again and—

Fuck.

“I can practically see your brain overheating.” Shoko cut sharply through his spiraling thoughts. “Forget all that. Just remember. He needs you.”

Satoru groaned. “…I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“You won’t this time. I’ll make sure of it.” She shrugged. “We’ll have a few people on standby ready to dart you. Okay?”

Satoru let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay, fine.”

The moment he conceded, his skin prickled. His stomach grew warm, as the alpha inside him perked up.

He did his best to shove it down. Yes, he was going to see Yuuji again. But this time would be different.

It had to be.

Chapter Text

The first attempt was just as disastrous as Satoru feared.

Well, maybe marginally better. He’d managed to last five minutes, from opening the door to being darted by Yaga and Maki.

At the door to Yaga’s private office, he put his hand on the doorknob, then froze. Yuuji’s scent was already seeping out from the other side of the door.

Ignoring whatever unflattering thing Shoko was muttering behind him, he took several slow, shallow breaths. He noted that while the scent still made his body throb, his mind stayed clear. Perhaps his previous response had been triggered by the heat-specific pheromones after all. Okay. He could do this.

The way his heart kept skipping was nauseating. He wasn’t used to being scared. God, was this how everyone else felt all the time?

Finally, he turned the doorknob and entered the office.

“Oh, Gojo-sensei!” Yuuji bounced up from the couch, beaming.

“Yuuji,” Satoru said. He did his best to affect his typical laidback tone, to smile. He suspected both came out somewhat tight by the way that Yuuji slowed his approach, and how his expression softened.

Behind the couch stood Yaga, with a cursed dart gun cocked against his shoulder. He gave Satoru a nod. Maki stood at another corner of the room, wielding a similar gun. She merely narrowed her eyes at him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Yuuji stopped at arm’s length from Satoru. “Um…how are you?” He cocked his head and blinked those large, soft eyes. The concern was practically radiating off him.

Satoru’s heart thudded. The words wouldn’t come out. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Totally fine. And… you?”

Yuuji bobbed his head. “Good, good.” He scratched his neck absently. “This is kinda awkward, huh? I know you’ve been busy recently. I just wanted to see you and make sure you were okay after, uhh…”

To make sure Satoru was okay?

“…after you got caught up in my heat.” Yuuji ducked his head, cheeks red with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Satoru said, horrified. At the same time, he heard Shoko snap, from behind him, “You shouldn’t be, Itadori.”

“Well…” Yuuji gestured vaguely. “My scent, with whatever Sukuna did to it, I know it messed with your head. And that you wouldn’t have, uhh, been like that otherwise.” His hand crept towards his neck again, almost unconsciously, fiddling at the same patch of skin. “So, I’m sorry.”

“Yuuji,” Satoru said. He closed his eyes. “Please.”

Yuuji’s mouth clicked shut. “Hmm?”

Satoru lowered himself to the floor, the motion almost silent against the plush carpet. He hadn’t sat in seiza since he was a child—had never needed to, or even thought to—but it came back to him easily. The others in the room had their own reactions at the rare sight, he was sure, but to Satoru, they all faded into the background. There was only Yuuji, staring down at him with a puzzled look.

He looked so, heartbreakingly young.

Satoru slowly pulled down his blindfold and fixed his eyes on Yuuji.

“Yuuji,” he repeated. “I am so sorry. I did something truly terrible to you. I can only hope that, in time, you’ll forgive me.”

“What?” Yuuji said blankly. He shook his head and came down to the floor as well, bringing them face to face.

“Get up, sensei,” he said, his face flushing deeper, clearly embarrassed by the display. “Please. It’s okay, really.”

He reached out and put a hand on Satoru’s upper arm, trying to tug him back to standing.

Where Yuuji’s fingers were curled against his arm burned like a brand, even through a layer of fabric.

As Yuuji leaned in, Satoru’s eyes were suddenly drawn the side of his neck. The almost invisible layer of hydrocolloid gel that was stuck there. A corner had started peeling off.

Satoru swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He tried pulling back but Yuuji’s grip was strong and he did not let go.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Yuuji said. “I’m totally back to normal.” He winced. “Well, maybe not completely normal. I wanted to talk to you about—”

Abruptly, Satoru reached out and ripped off the scent patch.

It was like his arm had been possessed. The primitive alpha aspect of Satoru had recognized what the patch was doing, and all it knew was that it was wrong.

The moment the patch came off, Yuuji’s scent flooded the room. With one deep breath, it filled Satoru’s lungs, zipped straight into his bloodstream, and shot up into his brain.

—ripe, fragrant fruit, lush greenery, mineral-rich, blood, the fertile earth itself—

There you are.

The alpha had the omega pinned down on his belly in a fraction of a second. He bent over the omega’s back and sank his canines into that soft, white neck, growling with excitement. The omega cried out, first in shock, then pain as the alpha’s bite grew stronger till it drew blood.

The alpha felt a sharp jab, a pinch really, against his back. A second jab almost simultaneously in his neck. Vaguely, he registered the sound of shouting around him. Then, felt the sensation of pulling, someone yanking at his shoulder, his neck, but it all slid off his skin-tight shield of cursed energy like water off his back.

Nothing else mattered. He had his omega again.

He pulled his mouth off and turned the omega onto his back, the better to see his lovely face.

The omega was staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Gojo-sensei, wait—” he choked out. But the alpha did not speak his language, or any language, for that matter.

With a flash of cursed energy, the alpha tore away all that irritating fabric that was in his way, till the omega was bare once more. He clamped a hand over the omega’s throat and forced his head back, till the omega was arching his back off the floor. In one rough motion, he licked the omega from the center of his chest, up his tender quivering neck, to the tip of his chin. The omega gasped. There was a spike of pleasure in the omega’s pheromones, and the alpha growled with satisfaction. Finally, he could—

Something was wrong. His head was growing heavy. His vision swam. The alpha snarled and shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but it only grew stronger, and stronger, and…

The last thing he saw before he collapsed was the omega’s soft, dark eyes.

-

Afterwards, there was a long, tense silence in the room.

“Well…” Yuuji finally laughed, from where he lay, naked and pinned to the floor by Gojo’s unconscious body. “That could’ve gone better.”

Chapter Text

Everyone was in unspoken agreement about postponing any further attempts for the time being.

Yuuji did his best to ignore the inner whine of disappointment.

The inner omega voice that had been plaguing him had only grown louder since seeing Gojo-sensei. All it wanted, day and night, was to be with him again.

It mattered little that he had been scared by the alpha at the time. That he had instinctively fought the pain of the bite, and had quivered with the combined fear-anticipation of a second, violent ravaging.

That was all natural. Everything that was done to us was the alpha’s right, the omega insisted.

And far greater than the fear had been the pure, unrestrained joy of receiving a renewed mating bite. It had confirmed his (the omega’s) hopes beyond all doubt.

This was his alpha. The father of his…

…child?

Um.

Yuuji was now expending a significant amount of mental effort trying not to think about how pleased his omega self felt, and consequently how pleased he was being forced to feel, about being pregnant of all things. Even more frustrating, whenever Yuuji had even a glancing thought about getting rid of the thing, an annoying part of him would shrink back with revulsion. No! Not our child. The mere idea was anathema.

Although the omega inside of Yuuji liked to fill him up with all sorts of nausea and nerves about his intention to end the pregnancy, his rational mind knew that having a baby—especially Gojo Satoru’s baby—was the stupidest idea of all time. He was fifteen. Gojo was Gojo. What business did he have raising a living, breathing child of theirs? Putting aside the challenges of this particular partner, even if Yuuji had wanted a child—which itself was debatable—it certainly wouldn’t be now. Not now, while he was a high schooler actively training to be a jujutsu sorcerer…and was still possessed by Sukuna. Who knew what crazy effect that might potentially have on a developing fetus. Maybe it would pop out of Yuuji with a tattooed face and extra eyes, then sneer at the sight of Yuuji and call him “brat.”

Every time the matter of being pregnant came to mind, the two sides of hi—his own, rational mind and the primal, omega voice—grappled and churned inside him. A dance between mind and matter. Yuuji really didn’t want the child. The omega really wanted the child. Many times, now, he’d tried walking to Dr. Ieiri’s office to ask her help in getting rid of it, only to be overwhelmed by such a visceral, nauseating sense of wrongness that he’d had to stop.

It was at these moments that Yuuji wished more than anything he could talk to Gojo-sensei.

Unfortunately, Gojo had done an excellent job of making himself scarce once more.

Immediately after their less than productive reunion, Dr. Ieiri had thrown a blanket over Yuuji and speedily escorted him out of the room. Given his skill with RCT, Satoru will wake up from that sedative very quickly, she’d said grimly.

Later, clicking her tongue as she cleaned and re-bandaged his neck, she’d added, softer, We’ll find a way, Yuuji. It won’t be like this forever.

Yuuji certainly hoped not. If it did, his jujutsu education under Gojo wouldn’t be going very far.

He’d texted Gojo right after their unsuccessful attempt at meeting, asking if they could at least speak over call. One agonizing day later, his teacher responded with one word.

Yes.

Then, he proceeded to immediately ring Yuuji.

Yuuji, who was laying in his dorm room bed at the time, jerked up straight and almost dropped his buzzing phone. He accepted the call with a shaky hand.

“I’m pregnant,” Yuuji blurted out, as soon as he heard the click of connection.

A pause. Then, came Gojo’s low, smooth voice, “I know. Shoko told me.” Again, there was that pain audible in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

Unexpectedly, Yuuji found himself annoyed. “Would you stop saying that?”

Yes, the omega agreed. It was bristling at the mere implication that the alpha might not want their child. Or worse, regret even choosing the omega in the first place. Could it be that he doesn’t want us anymore?

Yuuji wanted to slam his head into the wall. Could he not go one day without this internal monologue from the Stone Age?

“Whatever,” Yuuji said, clearing his throat. “It’s not like we can change what happened. I already get that you feel bad, and you know that I feel bad too—even if you don’t think I should,” he added quickly, before Gojo could interrupt. “So why don’t we just agree that we’re both sorry and move on? Okay?”

A huff of breath, not quite a laugh. “Okay, Yuuji,” Gojo said. “We can do that. Whatever you want.”

Yuuji was taken aback at the immediate compliance. His irritation, now lacking a target, quickly bled away.

“Alright, then. Good,” he said awkwardly. He went to scratch his neck, then caught himself. “Well… okay. About the whole being pregnant thing…”

“It’s your decision, Yuuji,” Gojo said. Yuuji heard him take a deep breath over the phone. “But if you want my opinion, you’re far too young. I don’t think having a child is a good idea.” To Yuuji, Gojo sounded as though he was struggling to get the words out—as if he, too, was fighting some powerful inner instinct. “This entire situation is… I’m on your side regardless, and I obviously won’t force your decision. But—”

“It’s okay, sensei,” Yuuji interrupted. “I agree with you.” No, you don’t! Yuuji powered on. “I’ll talk to Dr. Ieiri about it. We’ll, um, deal with it.”

“Yuuji,” Gojo said. “I’m s—” He caught himself. “I wish I could be there to help.” His voice dropped low. “But I really can’t be near you right now. Especially after last time. I really thought I’d be able to control myself around you, and I was clearly wrong. I don’t think we should risk it anymore, at least for now.”

“I know, I know,” Yuuji said, even as he could see in his mind’s eye as the omega (very dramatically) keeled over in despair, melting into a sad puddle. “It’s fine, really!” He hoped his cheery tone was convincing.

“I mean it,” Gojo said. His voice softened. “You’re very precious to me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you again.”

Yuuji swallowed.

Precious. He means as a student, Yuuji thought quickly, but that did not stop the omega from springing up from the metaphorical floor and latching onto it with delight.

“We’ll find a way to fix… all of this,” Yuuji said, echoing Dr. Ieiri’s earlier words and projecting a confidence he did not quite feel.

“We will,” Gojo agreed. He, like Yuuji, did not sound fully convinced.

The two of them lingered in awkward silence for a bit.

“Oh,” Gojo said suddenly. “I’m not sure if anyone mentioned yet, but Kusakabe—the second year instructor—will be taking over your training in the mean time. You should let him know if there’s anything you need.”

“Okay,” Yuuji said. “That sounds good.”

“Anything else I can help my dear student with?” There was a flicker of the old, lighthearted Gojo-sensei.

“Uhh…” Yuuji frowned down at his sheets. “No, nothing. It’s just…I’ll miss you, sensei,” he finally said.

Another breath over the phone.

“I’ll miss you too, Yuuji. Good luck.”

With a click, Gojo was gone.

That was the last time they spoke. In the weeks since then, Yuuji had only caught glimpses of Gojo from afar, around campus. Sometimes, he would be walking around with Fushiguro and Kugisaki, or one of the staff. Other times, he was on his own, heading to one place or another, clearly on duty.

Without fail, every time Yuuji saw him, Gojo would turn with pinpoint accuracy to catch his eye. Like he knew exactly where Yuuji was, even if they were literal buildings apart.

Yuuji usually waved, and in response, Gojo would always flash him a smile.

It was far from his typical playful grin, however (which Yuuji had not seen directed towards himself in some time). Instead, it was tense, cautious, and suffused with a strange intensity. Sometimes, even with the significant distance, Yuuji could still smell a spike in his scent. Clean, cold ozone washing over him. It made him shiver.

Then, always all too soon, Gojo would turn away and vanish from Yuuji’s sight.

The omega was emboldened after each one of these sightings.

It had found a different tack now. Just look at him! Look at how he cares for you, how afraid he is to hurt you. How could you get rid of his child? Our child?

It mattered little that Yuuji and Gojo had both agreed out loud that it was the best option. He didn’t mean it! What kind of alpha wouldn’t want a child? He just said that because he thinks you don’t want it! Keep it keep it keep it—

Ugh. At least Dr. Ieiri said he had plenty of time to decide. Hopefully, he would grow better at pushing down the pesky voice. He’d hit her up for help when he could finally hear himself think again. When the very thought of doing something about the pregnancy didn’t fill him with nausea.

Thankfully, there was plenty to distract Yuuji from the fraught relationship with his omega self—as well as this strange, new, animal yearning for Gojo-sensei.

Missions were rolling in hot and fast as the year crawled steadily into fall.

For minor missions, Yuuji was typically sent out with either Fushiguro or Kugisaki, or both. Second-grades and lower, they posed little challenge anymore, especially when all three of them were together. To Yuuji’s relief, Fushiguro and Kugisaki had now grown acclimated to the recent changes to Yuuji’s body. Accidental flashes of his scent hardly seemed to bother them at all, although Fushiguro remained a bit prickly about it. And overprotective, of course.

For the higher-grade missions, he now found himself paired with Nanami most often.

He liked Nanami a lot. He was authoritative, naturally, as the senior sorcerer to Yuuji. However, despite the man’s intimidating, undeniably alpha demeanor, he remained forever a consummate professional. Whenever Yuuji worked with him, it was as though the social dynamics of secondary sex did not exist at all.

It was incredibly fortunate that Yuuji was with Nanami in particular when the second breakthrough heat hit him.

The two of them had been pursuing a first-grade curse through busy Akihabara. A six-legged creature of piping and steel wire, that initially spawned from a local thriving arcade with a back alley where a student gang was known to torment their victims.

When they finally cornered the curse down another deserted alleyway, they found it crawling up and down the walls like a panicked centipede, wailing, “Stop! Stop! Please, it hurts! Stop!”

Yuuji found his heart aching. The sheer amount of pain that must have accumulated to manifest this curse.

Then, he realized that the ache inside him was growing stronger.

That was when lightning struck him down for the second time.

One moment, Yuuji was stalking the curse from the south wall of the alley, opposite of Nanami’s approach, just as they’d planned—then, in the next moment, he found himself flat on his back, dazed with the shock of pre-heat fever.

As he lay there, stunned, a cable lashed out and wound around his throat. “Stop! Stop!” the curse continued wailing, even as it started strangling Yuuji.

I guess that confirms it, Yuuji thought, his mind bizarrely clear even as he choked and yanked at the cable. Suppressants really don’t work on me anymore. Dr. Ieiri won’t be happy about this.

There was a flash of blood and guts overhead and the cable went slack.

“Itadori!” A voice barked.

Nanami came into view, his blunt cleaver still dripping. He put it away—still unwrapped and bloody, very unlike him—and knelt down by Yuuji’s side, untangling the thick loop around his neck.

“Nanamin,” Yuuji coughed. “Thanks for the save.”

As Yuuji wiped some curse gunk from his face, already dissolving into ash as the cursed spirit faded away, Nanami patted the rest of him down for missed injuries. He was evidently satisfied.

“It appears that you’re going into heat, Itadori,” he said, blunt. He sounded mildly annoyed as always.

“Yeah,” Yuuji said. “I don’t think suppressants are working on me anymore.” He was unsure how much Nanami knew about the whole situation. Regardless, the man did not ask.

Yuuji tried to push himself up and Nanami reached out to help him. Together, they boosted him into a sitting position, with his back against the wall of the alley.

The bricks felt cool through Yuuji’s shirt. The fever seemed less intense than the first time, he realized. Although he was still weak, he could tell that he retained much more of his sanity and strength. That gave him some hope for the future. Maybe his heats would even go back to normal, eventually.

Nanami had whipped out his phone and was rapidly tapping out a message. “Ijichi will be here to pick us up in five minutes,” he said. “I presume you would prefer to return to the Tokyo campus?”

Yuuji nodded.

Nanami turned his head away, scanning the entrance of the alley, automatically assessing for threats even as he tended to Yuuji. “While we wait, Itadori, you should let me know how best to assist you,” he added. His tone was flat and clinical.

Wordlessly, Yuuji ducked his head, baring his neck. Nanami, quick on the uptake as always, reached out and clasped it.

His hand was large and surprisingly cool to the touch. With relief, Yuuji found the heat settling considerably. The fever was almost tolerable now. The omega was pleased with the presence of a strong, senior alpha—even if it wasn’t him—and decided that exuding pre-heat pheromones was no longer an urgent matter. After all, they’d already attracted someone to their side.

This one should fuck us very well, if he doesn’t show up first, the omega whispered.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Yuuji pleaded.

Thankfully, it did. But not before the vivid and unwanted image of Nanami and him… together… popped into his head. Dismayed, he felt himself starting to leak between his legs. He peeked apprehensively up at Nanami.

Nanami looked level-headed as always. Perhaps there was an extra tightness to his posture, the subtle twitch of a muscle in his jaw. Well, to be fair, he often looked like that for a variety of other reasons, like when Gojo-sensei pissed him off one too many times…

Speaking of our alpha… The omega piped up again. Where is he?

Get over yourself, Yuuji snapped. Gojo Satoru is not yours. It was all an accident. He focused on taking deep, slow breaths, leaning into Nanami’s touch.

When the rumble of a car engine sounded down the alleyway, Yuuji moved to stand up. Even with help from Nanami, however, his legs were just too wobbly to support his weight.

“May I?”

Yuuji nodded. The real exhaustion had started setting in now. He was beyond embarrassment.

Nanami hoisted him up effortlessly in his arms. Yuuji closed his eyes and ducked his face into the crook of the man’s neck. Inhaled wood and smoke, and a hint of cold gunmetal.

He felt himself deposited, very gently, into the back seat of the car.

“Hang in there, Itadori,” Ichiji called, from the front seat. “We’ll get you back soon.”

“Thank you,” Yuuji said faintly. He felt a puff of air against his cheek.

“Would you prefer if I sat in the front, or the back seat?”

“Back, please.” The fervent words sprang from him before he could even think, as though from a stranger. As his will weakened, the omega was growing stronger.

“Understood.”

God, Yuuji thought distantly. He’d better not make a complete fool out of himself. He still wanted a professional relationship with Nanami after this. If every heat went like the first one, he was going to rapidly run out of mentors.

When Nanami slipped into the back seat, Yuuji automatically—blindly—crawled across his lap and slumped over him. His breaths were coming in shallow now.

That large hand silently circled the back of his neck again.

That gesture, Nanami’s dispassionate kindness, made Yuuji’s eyes grow damp. “I’m really sorry,” Yuuji whispered. “I—I can’t—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Itadori,” Nanami said evenly. “Please, put it out of your mind.” His grip briefly tightened against Yuuji’s neck. “Whatever you’ve been told, being an omega is not a sin,” he added, quietly. “And you are a child. Focus on yourself and leave the rest to the adults.”

Yuuji could say nothing to that, unless he wanted to tear up further.

Instead, he nestled in closer and closed his eyes.

-

“Is Itadori okay?” Ijichi’s anxious voice sounded through the partition. “Did he pass out?”

“He seems to be asleep. He has a fever but it doesn’t feel too severe right now.”

Kento was displeased. It was not the boy’s fault, but Itadori had obviously been cleared for missions when his health indicated otherwise. Suppressant failure indicated a catastrophic underlying problem.

If Kento had not been there… the possibilities were too appalling to consider.

Ijichi was evidently concerned, too, because they pulled up to the school in record time, through a back road that bypassed the endless staircase.

Now, the question was where to bring Itadori and who exactly to defer to in the matter.

Kento’s first thought was Gojo. As much as he disliked the man, there was no denying that he was Itadori’s teacher and sworn protector. Likely, he had some insight into what was going on with Itadori.

There was just one thing that gave him pause.

Earlier, when Itadori bared his neck to him, Kento had seen the mark on his nape through his uniform collar. He hadn’t been trying to. He was not interested in violating the boy’s privacy. But the size made it impossible to miss. It was half scarred over but clearly still healing, likely less than a month old.

It was the most violent, savage mating bite that Kento had ever seen. It had clearly been inflicted by someone who had lost all control, or had no compunctions about hurting Itadori—or both.

The very sight of it repulsed him. Since then, his mind had been automatically combing through possible suspects.

He’d heard offhandedly that Itadori had last been on heat leave about a month ago. Coincidentally, around when the students’ exchange event had occurred. There had been some unforeseen delay around then, too.

Because Gojo had been away at the time. On some unspecified business.

The mere thought was preposterous. As arrogant as Gojo was—as much as he would flout rules and disobey orders—Kento knew that he would sooner kill himself than harm one of his students. Especially in such an obscene way.

And yet…

Kento was a disciplined man, but he was not entirely sexless. Even he could not help but notice that Itadori’s scent had somehow grown prodigiously appealing. Something had clearly changed.

Could that have been enough…?

All these details combined were too suspicious. Enough to tip Kento’s decision. He decided to bring Itadori to Ieiri’s office instead.

She was dashing down the hall, even as they approached.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Another one, is it?” She beckoned them towards the office. “Quickly, Kento, get him in here, before…”

Kento carried Itadori inside and laid him down on the sofa. Ieiri shut the door behind them and quickly secured both locks. She let out a tight breath and fumbled in her pocket for a cigarette.

She let out a curse as she struggled to strike her lighter. Kento took it from her and lit the cigarette.

“Thank you,” she said. She inhaled deep and let out a shaky breath.

“Get him in here, before what?” Kento repeated.

Ieiri’s expression twisted. “…before he realizes Itadori’s in heat again.”

It couldn’t be.

Kento stared at her. She smiled darkly.

“Oh, yes. As you might guess, Satoru was very unhappy to wake up knotted to one of his students.” She jerked her head towards the couch. “Did quite a number on Itadori, too.”

That mating mark. Nausea rose in Kento’s throat, so sudden that he nearly gagged. He gritted his teeth.

“…How?”

“Sukuna, I think. He was the strongest alpha in history, after all. Not hard to believe that his secondary aspect might have twisted up with Itadori’s and had some unforeseen effects.” She shook her head. “Based on what I’ve seen, the stronger the alpha is, the worse it seems to affect them. Naturally, Satoru didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t even remember what he did, at first.”

She took another draw from her cigarette and peered at Kento, thoughtful.

“You seemed to be dealing with Itadori just fine, though. Not that I’m calling you weak, of course. Maybe I could see if—”

There was a faint whine from the couch. Ieiri immediately stubbed out her cigarette on the ashtray and pulled a couple syringes from her white coat.

“Itadori?”

Itadori cleared his throat. “Hey, Dr. Ieiri,” he said. His eyes drifted past her, to Kento. “Thank you, Nanamin,” he said, faintly.

Kento nodded. He was still trying not to think about that mark on Itadori’s neck. About what he must have been going through when it was inflicted—

No, he could not think about that.

Ieiri put a hand on Itadori’s forehead. She hummed and gave him a diagnostic sniff. “You seem to be handling it better than the last time.”

“Yeah,” Itadori said. He coughed. “I don’t feel too bad.”

“I’ll give you a half dose for the fever, then,” she said.

Kento looked away as she pulled down Itadori’s pants to inject him in the thigh.

“Okay, we’re decent.” She clapped her hands. “Now, let’s figure out where to put you.”

Yuuji rubbed one of his eyes. “Am I going to the same place as last time?”

Ieiri shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Satoru definitely remembers where it is.”

Kento’s jaw twitched.

“Your full-heat pheromones were required to trigger him the first time,” she continued. “But that other time in Yaga’s office, all it took was your regular scent. Hard to say how he might respond this time. Ideally, we’d find somewhere he can’t track you down. That, however,” she shot Kento a wry smile, “would be quite the challenge given his abilities. It may actually be impossible.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuji said. He yelped as Ieiri smacked his head, surprisingly hard.

“No, you’re not,” she said.

“Okay,” Yuuji said blankly.

Clearly considering the matter settled, Ieiri turned to Kento. “The next best option would be moving him somewhere else and also having someone at the door to stand guard. So, even if Satoru manages to find it, which unfortunately is quite likely, we’ll still have someone to call for backup. And to help stall and deflect any of his…attempts.”

“I will stay with Itadori,” Kento said.

“Oh, Kento,” Ieiri sighed. “What did we ever do to deserve you?”

“Nothing at all.”

She laughed, but soon grew solemn again. “You’ve never seen him out of control, have you?” Kento shook his head. “It’s not pretty. Are you absolutely sure—”

“Ieiri-san,” Kento said softly. “Do not insult me by finishing that sentence.”

Kento was sure. Gojo would not get his hands on Itadori a second time.

-

Satoru was just leaving Yaga’s office when he detected it. The faintest trace of citrus and pine, likely a couple buildings away, yet still detectable to his sharp nose.

He’s in heat again.

Satoru’s fingers spasmed at his sides, then curled into fists.

Get out of here, he thought faintly. Leave, Satoru, leave right fucking now. Teleport somewhere, anywhere—

Oh, what’s the harm? a voice whispered. His most primitive self was wide awake now, speaking to him in a low, intimate tone. He’s already pregnant, isn’t he? We wouldn’t be doing anything other than helping him through the heat…

Is that what you’d like to think? he asked himself, livid. Remember last time, we hurt him so badly last time—

But did we really? The voice turned sly and insidious. He didn’t seem to mind so much. He begged to see us afterwards, repeatedly, even while we were dodging him left and right.

Fine, sure he did. But that was—

Obviously, it’s because he wants us. Just like how everyone else wants us. Remember how he smelled on the floor of that office, when we finally put our mouth on him…

A sudden jolt of arousal shot through Satoru. That was sort of true. At least some part of Yuuji had liked it. The scent of desire had been unmistakable.

And hadn’t he reached out to Satoru again, even after that? Still hoping to talk to him. Insisting that Satoru stop feeling bad. Dejected at the prospect of their indefinite distance.

I’ll miss you, sensei, he’d said over the phone, softly. 

That poor boy. What he must be going through without you at his side. Can’t you hear him, now? He’s calling for you right now.

When he strained his ears, he could almost convince himself of it.

He wants you.

Go get him.

Now.

Satoru found himself moving automatically.

Following the trail that would lead him back to Yuuji.

To his omega.

Chapter Text

You’re in control, Satoru.

You can still think, can’t you?

And you still remember who you are, don’t you?

Don’t worry. All is as it should be.

Go and get him.

As Satoru stalked through the school, that primitive instinct—encoded in his genes since secondary sex first emerged in the earliest humans—gradually took over his mind. The last of his resistance was eroding away the stronger Yuuji’s scent grew.

By the time he made it to the end of the scent trail, he and the alpha were virtually indistinguishable.

The trail had, oddly, led him straight to Nanami Kento.

Nanami was standing in front of a door, back straight. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, expression flat and unreadable…

And he was positively wreathed in Yuuji’s scent.

“Nanamin,” Satoru said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Nanami nodded. “Gojo.” He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Satoru. One of his hands started fiddling with his phone.

Satoru’s eyes sharpened and he immediately read, upside-down, the small characters that Nanami typed out.

He’s here.

“You’re damn right,” Satoru said. Nanami stilled and slowly put the phone back into his pocket. “Who is it you’re texting over there, hmm?”

Nanami ignored the question. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said flatly.

“Sorry, what was that?” Satoru smiled, a broad flash of sharp teeth. “I shouldn’t be here? Funny, I was about to say the same to you.”

He moved in closer. Savored the way the other man immediately stiffened, hand twitching to his cleaver at his side.

“Tell me, Nanami. Why are you standing in front of this door?” Another step. “What exactly could you be hiding in there?”

They were only an arm’s length apart now.

“And most importantly—why the fuck do you smell like my omega?”

Nanami’s fingers wrapped around the handle of his cleaver.

“Gojo,” he said flatly. “Control yourself.”

“I am in control,” Satoru snarled. “Why do you smell like him?”

Satoru saw the exact moment that Nanami drew his weapon. Too slow. Satoru lunged forward, uncaring as the cleaver glanced off his shoulder. It may as well have been a feather. With both hands, he grabbed onto Nanami’s collar and slammed his back into the wall. The door let out a warning creak.

“What have you done to him?”

“…Nothing,” Nanami gritted out. “I’ve done nothing to him, Gojo.”

“Then why—"

Nanami suddenly snarled in return, pushing back against Satoru, although he could not shake him off. Nanami’s scent, usually so tight and politely contained, flared out with gunmetal and wood smoke. It was stronger than Satoru had ever smelled it.

“But you,” Nanami growled. “You’ve done plenty, haven’t you?”

“I—"

“You marked that boy. I saw the bite.” Nanami’s expression twisted with disgust. “Why, Gojo?”

“Why?” Satoru tightened his grip and laughed as Nanami chokes.

“Because he’s mine,” Satoru hissed. “And I want everyone to know it. Now, get out of my way right fucking now, unless you want to die.”

Somehow, Nanami drew in enough air to reply.

“No.”

Satoru didn’t actually want to kill him. Somewhere beneath the rage, he knew he liked Nanami. Respected him, even. But that part felt very far away right now. All he knew was that he was face to face with an alpha who had dared to put his hands all over Yuuji.

No matter. He didn’t have to kill him to get him out of the way. Carelessly, he shoved Nanami to the side. 

Yuuji was on the other side of this door. That was all he cared about. He could smell him now, his scent lush and green and just begging for Satoru to join him. Satoru grabbed the handle. He frowned as it sparked against his hand with a sharp, electric jolt. A cursed bind. He focused his mind and twisted his own energy against it.

The bind was strong and complex. Normally, it wouldn’t have slowed him down for more than a minute.

Except, the moment that delay opened, Nanami landed a fucking Black Flash against the side of his head. Even with Limitless, the raw impact was enough to throw Satoru away from the door.

Satoru was forced a few meters down the hall. He planted his feet and twisted around, furious.

“You! What part of ‘get out of my way’ did you not understand?”

Nanami had planted himself back in front of the door. Red bruising was already starting to bloom along the front of his neck, where Satoru throttled him. And yet, he only stared coldly back.

“Like I said.” He sounded genuinely disappointed. “Control yourself, Gojo.”

Satoru really thought he could kill him now. His fingers twitched as cursed energy pooled into them.

Suddenly, his ears pricked. He could hear people coming down the hall. Maybe four, based on the footsteps. Ugh, more interference. He’d deal with Nanami first. Knocking him unconscious would do the trick.

Before he could decide how exactly to do it without causing permanent damage, Nanami spoke up again.

“Think, Gojo,” Nanami said. “You care about Itadori, don’t you?” His voice flattened. “Think very hard about what you did to him during that heat. Did he bleed?”

He did, Satoru thought automatically. He remembered it, red and vivid. Mostly from his neck, from where Satoru bit him. And some from between his legs, where Satoru fucked him. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him. The clarity of the memory was enough to make Satoru hesitate, for just a moment.

Nanami looked grim, as though he could see exactly what Satoru was seeing.

“Did he cry?”

He did. Satoru remembered him sobbing through a good chunk of it. Wordless, animal cries as he was taken, over and over. Tear tracks gleaming on his cheeks. Something cold twisted in his stomach.

“And did he fight you?”

No. He didn’t. But even if he had wanted to, even if he had tried, with all the strength he could muster… it wouldn’t have made a difference. In no universe could Yuuji have ever fought Satoru off.

He swallowed. Slowly, his cursed energy bled away.

Satoru closed his eyes. “Nanami,” he said. “I—”

“Don’t,” Nanami said. “Just go.”

For the first time, his words truly registered.

Satoru teleported away—somewhere far, far away—the scent of Yuuji still lingering on his nose.

Chapter Text

Yuuji stared at tiled floor of the shower and watched the water sluice over his body and swirl down the drain.

The mating mark from Gojo-sensei had started throbbing, and it was only worsening by the minute. He turned the knob all the way to the left and let the freezing water run down the back of his neck. It helped a little.

Every random thought of Gojo was now triggering a fresh gush of slick between his legs. Unwittingly, Yuuji’s mind kept pulling up memories from that first heat. The sharp, cold smell of him. The bright, wild-animal look in his eye. The sight of him above Yuuji, sweat gleaming against his neck, panting as he mindlessly fucked into Yuuji’s body.

His heat-sick body remembered how it felt, and it wanted so badly to be fucked like that again that it made him nauseous.

Another warm trickle down his thighs. Ugh. He had to be at the tail end of pre-heat now, because not only was he leaking like a broken faucet, he’d also started shivering. For Yuuji, that break in the fever always meant a bigger spike was coming.

Yuuji turned off the shower, bundled himself in a towel, staggered over to the bed, and collapsed with a thump. Despite the unwanted desire that wracked his body, he could still think. What a relief. He wondered how long it would last.

He rolled over and fumbled for his phone. 

Heat starting, he texted Dr. Ieiri. Any news?

Three bouncing dots popped up immediately as she wrote her response.

Satoru caught your scent and came by—

Yuuji sat up abruptly, heart hammering.

—but don’t worry. There was a bit of a scuffle but Nanami somehow managed to convince him to leave.

Oh. Yuuji deflated. He must have missed the commotion outside while he was in the shower.

So, Gojo had managed to keep his head on straight this time. He wouldn’t be coming.

That was a good thing…right?

No, obviously not, came the whisper. He was so close. How could they keep him from you?

Then, slyly: But aren’t you glad to hear he came by? He wants us after all.

Yuuji crushed a tentative spark of hope. That’s just Sukuna’s influence, he told himself. Stop deluding yourself. He left, didn’t he?

That’s only because he thinks you don’t want it. Want him. But you do, don’t you?

No, I…

He didn’t. This hunger wasn’t—couldn’t—be him. It was all coming from the heat, from the hormones, the desperate signals pouring out from the most primitive lobe of his brain.

But aren’t those a part of you, just as much as your heart and lungs? Everything you’re feeling and thinking and wanting right now… it’s all you, whether you like it or not.

Yuuji curled up in the middle of the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. No, no, no—it wasn’t true—it couldn’t be—

Don’t lie to yourself, the voice whispered. I’m you and you’re me and I know exactly what you want, you little slut. You want Gojo Satoru and you want him so badly you’re dripping for it—

“No,” Yuuji moaned, but the heat was on him now. His hand was already moving down between his legs.

At first, he tried half-heartedly to jerk his dick. Unfortunately, it already proved too sensitive to use. Resigned, he moved lower. He flinched at the first featherlight touch against his slit, the sudden thrill that shivered through him. One finger went in easily. Two, as well. Three took some effort, and the stretch of his inner walls released a burst of pleasure so intense, it made his head spin.

What did I tell you?

To his horror, his brain was eagerly pulling up that collection of memories again, playing them in vivid technicolor and surround sound, so real he could almost taste it. The moment that Gojo-sensei, radiant and terrifying, broke down the door to get to him. All the purring and scenting, signalling undeniable approval of just how perfect he was. Then, pinning him down and pushing inside him, and using him until everything went dark. Holding him close and filling him up and somehow fucking a baby into him immediately—

Yuuji came around his fingers with a loud, startled cry. “Oh fuck, sensei—“

He shoved his face into the bed, sobbing, but it was too late.

What did I tell you?

All he could do was lay there, blank.

Don’t lie to yourself, the voice repeated. The voice that had been Yuuji all along.

You want him.

This was so unbelievably fucked.

-

It was genuinely embarrassing how quickly he folded. As his heat began in earnest, Yuuji came several, maybe three, more times. Each time picturing him, crying out his name.

Finally, exhausted and wrung out, Yuuji stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to scream. Or masturbate again.

Maybe what he needed was a therapist.

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door and Yuuji nearly leapt out of the bed.

“Itadori, are you there?” It was Dr. Ieiri’s voice, soft.

“Yeah,” Yuuji said quickly. “I’m here.” He wiped his hand against the towel, grimacing. He was completely covered in sweat. And other things. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he said, automatically. “Well… a lot better than last time, at least.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You do sound more like yourself.” A rustling sound. “I brought you some things. Food, supplies, and stuff your friends wanted you to have. I’ll leave it at the door, okay? And empty that laundry bin for you.”

Yuuji stared at the door, his throat tight. “Thank you,” he managed to get out. He had to suppress the urge to apologize, in case she burst in to smack him again.

“Anything I can do to help you right now?”

“No, I think I’m okay. Oh, wait, actually—” Yuuji cleared his throat. “Um. How did Nanamin get…him to leave?” Absurdly, he was scared to say Gojo’s name, as though merely shaping the sound with his lips would reveal everything. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“Well, not too much,” Ieiri said. “Kento said he managed to talk Satoru into leaving before things got too violent. I’m not sure where he is exactly, but Kento will be watching the door in case he comes back.”

“Good,” Yuuji said.

He had to force himself to sound pleased. At her words, a wave of resentment had rolled over him. Ugh, he was an awful person. How could Yuuji hope that Gojo would lose it again, and come back? And that Nanami would fail to stop him this time? Just because he was fucked up enough to want it.

“Good,” he repeated, quieter. “I hope they’re both okay.” 

There was silence for a moment.

“You’re too much of a bleeding heart, kid,” Ieiri said at last. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about them.” Another rustle. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you, but ring or text me any time okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

A minute later, once he heard the outer door swing shut, Yuuji dragged himself out of bed. He opened the bedroom door, not bothering to get dressed. He’d just be making more laundry anyway. 

A tote bag had been placed right outside the door. It was heavier than it looked. Yuuji moved it over to the coffee table and peeked inside.

Lots of water, little packs of electrolytes, three different convenience store bentos (thoughtful), some miscellaneous snacks, and…

Yuuji paused, inhaling.

Underneath a bag of chips, there was a wide red scarf that smelled just like Kugisaki. It was incredibly soft to the touch. A note had been safety pinned to it: If you destroy this, you’re buying me a new one!!

Then, beneath the scarf, a black sweatshirt with Fushiguro all over it. No note. But the thought of Fushiguro picking it out of his closet and handing it over said enough. 

Yuuji rubbed his face against both items and almost groaned. God, he didn’t deserve them.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and draped the scarf around his shoulders like a blanket. The combined scent of his friends wreathed him comfortingly and—despite the extra layers—his body started cooling down.

He dug lower and actually choked when he unearthed a discrete, shrink-wrapped cardboard box of what looked like several brand-new sex toys.

Had Kugisaki put these in? Hell, had Dr. Ieiri? It was hard to say which was worse.

After permitting himself a moment to die inside, Yuuji opened the lid again.

There was a drugstore brand bottle of lube, a vibrator, and four silicon dicks in different colors, shapes, and sizes. He lifted one out, a long blue one. Squeezed it and watched it flex and conform under his grip. Yuuji gulped. Supplies, Ieiri had said. That was certainly one way to put it. 

Was he really going to…?

He glanced over his shoulder, as though someone, anyone, might be glaring at him disapprovingly. Grandpa, Yuuji thought, wherever you are, I really hope it’s not here with me.

He reached for the bottle of lube.

He had at least two days of heat left. Plenty of time to figure out which one of these cocks felt closest to Gojo-sensei’s.

-

For once, Satoru was speechless. 

Finally, he managed to find his voice again. “You’re joking. This is a joke, right?” He tried his best not to breathe any of it in, and completely failed. His head spun. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” 

Shoko looked up at him, unimpressed at his looming figure. She shook the plastic bag a little and let it dangle from her fingers. “Do you want it or not?”

Satoru had snatched it from her outstretched hand before he even realized what his body was doing. The moment his brain caught up, he grimaced and dropped it onto the coffee table.

She arched a brow at him. “That’s what I thought,” she said sweetly. 

Satoru had to resist the immediate urge to rip it open and shove his face into its contents. And the second, more distant urge to strangle Shoko.

”This is fucked, you know that, right?” He could already feel himself getting half-hard.

Shoko shrugged. “Hey, exposure therapy works for plenty of other things. Maybe it’ll help you with this whole situation. I dunno.”

“Right, thank you so much, doctor.” Satoru eyed her. “Does he know?” 

“If this works even a little bit, it’ll be good for both of you,” she said, blatantly ignoring the question.” She jerked her chin at the bag. “I don’t care what exactly you do with it, as long as you leave it somewhere you can still smell it.”

The amusement in her voice said she already had a pretty good idea of what exactly he was going to do with it.

“You witch,” Satoru groaned.

“Says the rabid animal.”

“Just get out of here.”

She waved at him and left, closing the door none too gently behind her.

When Satoru had left campus, he’d brought himself to one of his spare apartments on the other side of Tokyo. Far enough that even he couldn’t detect the faintest trace of Yuuji.

Now, it was emanating from the plastic bag on the coffee table, tempting him like a twisted Pandora’s box. Satoru stared at it.

Was he really going to…?

He rubbed his face. Ugh, who was he kidding? 

He ignored the knot at the top and just ripped the bag open. 

Yuuji’s scent grew ten times stronger as the clothes tumbled out.

His school uniform jacket, with its collar slightly beat up (Satoru made a mental note to get that fixed for him later). A white undershirt, soft and worn. A pair of school uniform pants to go with the jacket. 

And his underwear. An unassuming pair of grey boxers. The kind that a fifteen year old boy might buy himself in a six pack from a department store.

They were completely soaked. 

Satoru closed his hand around the fabric and gripped it tight. He really didn’t want to do this.

Oh, please. You’re so full of shit. Shoko was right, you are a rabid animal. Look, you’re literally drooling over it right now.

Satoru closed his jaw with a click. He swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. 

Slowly, he raised Yuuji’s underwear to his face and inhaled. 

Instantly, he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

He freed himself from his pants, already breathing fast. Wrapped a hand around his cock and sank his teeth into the damp spot on his student’s underwear. 

With the scent all around him, the sweet taste on his tongue, it was all too easy to picture his mouth between the boy’s legs. Licking and probing until he was writhing on Satoru’s tongue, until he was screaming and crying—

Satoru cursed and came all over his stomach.

He slumped back onto the couch, still breathing hard. It had hardly been two minutes. Slowly, he unclenched his fist and set the crumpled pair of boxers back on the table. He stared at it for a bit, especially the part where his teeth had torn the cotton. 

You want him so bad.

This was so unbelievably fucked.