Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Becoming a sorcerer has opened up a lot to Itadori.

The whole concept of curses was, although unnerving, was an (un?)welcome one. It had thrown him headfirst into a life that (at least in his mind) aligned with his grandfather’s dying wish. Because of that, he can’t quite bring himself to hate curses completely.

The damage they cause? Absolutely unforgivable. No one should ever go through what Sasaki and Iguchi experienced. But their mere existence? That’s where things get complicated. The idea of the supernatural has always fascinated him. So yeah, it’s hard to muster up a proper ‘grr, I hate all curses’ speech when part of him still finds them cool.

Especially since he’s still new to all of this. It’s not like he has much experience to complain – ignore that time Sukuna ripped out his heart. Scratch that, just ignore Sukuna entirely.

What's another good example… well, it doesn't have to be good, it just have to get his point across with little to zero problems. Hold on, doesn't that make it a good example? Da- ah! Wait, he’s got one!

Did you know jujutsu sorcerers can die if they dont release enough cursed energy? yeah, he knows, thats crazy! Gojo just casually dropped that little nugget of existential horror one morning over breakfast. No warning. Just, “Hey, pass the eggs. Oh, by the way, not using cursed energy might kill you.”

The conversation was even more shocking considering the fact that it took place when he was still hiding in his basement.

“Ughhhhh,” he groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch like he was melting into it. A little weird, considering he’d just come home carrying ten boxes of overpriced cakes. Usually, that meant Gojo would be too busy stuffing his face to even acknowledge his reality (good or bad).

“What’s wrong?” A few eggs slip through Itadoris lips, an immediate oops following right behind them.

“I got the week off…” Gojo wiggles on the floor, having failed his sad attempt of landing on the couch.

“Isn't… that a good thing?”

“Nooo! I’m gonna be sooo clogged,” he whined, now flailing his limbs like a toddler throwing a tantrum on the grocery store floor.

“Clogged?” That's an odd choice of word usage. Maybe he means stuffed? Like ‘The house is stuffy!’ but ‘stuffed’ is still kind of an odd wording… well he is gojo, he says out of pocket things all the time! ‘You’ll be living in my basement from now on’ was Itadori's recent favorite.

“Yeah, you know, not gonna have an outlet for my cursed energy… at least not a good one.” 

“Uh- no…?”

“Y’know… youuuuu knoooowwww~!”

“No, no, I don’t, really.”

“Ah, right, I forgot. You’re still a noob.”

Itadori gives a small, wobbly smile. He wasn’t someone who got insecure easily, but listening to actual experienced sorcerers talk about stuff like this so casually did make him feel just a little out of his depth. Gojo, Kugisaki, Fushiguro… they were the only ones he knew so far, but it was enough to make him realize how much he still didn’t understand.

“Nothing good comes from letting your curse energy build up.” Gojo explained, finally giving up on trying to sit on the couch and slumping against the back of it instead.

“That's how curses are made from average people, right?” adds up, If you forgot beans in the fridge and they spoiled, it wasn’t exactly a stretch to assume the rice had gone bad too.

“It’s not exactly the same.” Gojo gestures lazily “For sorcerers, if you let cursed energy accumulate without using or releasing it, it starts clogging your internal flow.” He stretched his legs out with a groan. “Gets old fast.” That’s the understatement of the century; it gets downright dangerous.

There were days where Megumi refused to leave his room to avoid excess stress to his already aching body. Can you believe it!? His Megumi-chan? He can't!

The elders say it exists to push a sorcerer toward their purpose, of course, that means excorsising curses. Wow, who would've guessed the geezers who only care about sending anything that breathes wrong (or right) to the chopping block would say that?

On a real note, he’s never experienced it to the fullest but has seen the aftermath of jujutsu neglect. It’s painful, abrupt, leaving the sorcerer sluggish and drained. All attributes one would never use to describe Gojo.

“That sounds sh- trashy.” Itadori tries not to curse in front of gojo, he thinks his teacher would probably reprimand him for it (he’s never heard him swear, not even once)

“Yep,” Gojo chirped, grinning. “Especially since it can kill you~.”

“WHAT!?

“But you should be fine, your energy is low, and your training has been making you use it often enough. shouldn't clog for a while”

“Thank God… had me scared I’d die just for being lazy.” Itadori clasped his hands in mock prayer, visibly relieved. Then a thought struck him. “Wait, sensei- what about Sukuna? Didn’t he take a nap for, like… a thousand years?”

“He was sealed as a cursed object, then became a cursed spirit. He’s basically exempt from all that maintenance stuff.”

“Ugh, that’s so unfair. The King of Curses gets a pass, but I don’t?”

“Turn that frown upside down, Yuuji-kun!” Gojo sprang up from the floor like a spring-loaded mannequin. With both hands, he reached over and pulled up the corners of Itadori’s mouth, forcing a crooked smile onto his face.

“We’re lucky,” he said, cheerfully. “You could’ve been born when omegas were still a thing. Now that would've been painful~.”

“Sensei, I don’t know what an omega is-” or at least, that’s what Itadori tried to say.

“Wenwei, Wai ont noh yha ah omaga wis…!” is what is actually pronounced. Itadori’s failure to communicate in japanese was promptly provided by gojo playing with his facial expression. Having moved on from rearranging his mouth and begun putting his entire head to work.

Thankfully the perpetrator is still able to decipher his intentions… or maybe not?

He suddenly froze, staring at Itadori from behind his blindfold. One beat passed. Itadori would've called it awkward, but the silence felt way too intense to be awkward.

What if ‘omegas’ was a term reserved for execution!?

It’s not like Gojo explained anything when he brought it up. Just dropped the word like a niche reference and expected Itadori to nod along. so nope, no follow-up, no definitions- just Gojo being Gojo.

Damn, he really wants to know more about jujutsu society, tired of feeling like an outsider… he's actually just tired of the resident body snatching king of curses making fun of him for not knowing what a ‘six eyes’ is. 

The guy says it like it’s common knowledge, like it’s on page one of the cursed energy user manual. And Itadori in specific should already be aware of. But neither him nor gojo will explain(his teacher breaks into hysterical laughter everytime he mentions it)! 

The second-longest staring contest of Itadori’s life ended in defeat (first goes to his grandpa over Itadori wanting a job), His oh-so-helpful mentor completely changed the subject mid-eye-lock. And when Itadori tried to follow up a few days later, Gojo gave the exact same reaction—except this time, he ruffled his hair like he was a toddler asking where babies come from.

Safe to say he didn't want to talk about it. Nothing insane, If “omegas” were really that important, Gojo probably would’ve explained it by now. …Eventually. Someday. Maybe.

Okay, probably not.

For as long as the teen has known him, his sensei has been an unreliable source. ah- his pop spilled… aw man, now his hands are all sticky.

Legs lift above the couch, padding across the cool floor into the massive marble bathroom. It’s late anyway. Might as well hit the bricks.

Steam billows from the walk-in shower as he steps out, Itadori lightly steps out the walk-in shower. The floor is damp, wetting the bottom of his feet, he tries to be careful not to slip. 

On his way out, something catches his eye—a plain black box labeled ‘Scent Blockers’ No store branding, no handwriting, just a simple tag. It doesn’t look homemade… but it’s definitely not mass-produced either.

Itadori stares for a second, curiosity stirring.

Eh. Not his box, Not his house, Not his buissness. He leaves it alone. not his place to snoop.

And with that, the pinkette flops down onto the absurdly comfortable couch Gojo gave him. One of those fancy, imported things with cushions softer than actual clouds. Snuggled beneath a fleece blanket, moments from unconsciousness, he remembers to yell out his nightly ritual.

“G’night, sensei!”

“Night night Yuuji-kun!” 

Ahh, how nice

When Itadori first had his heart ripped out, he thought, ‘Welp. Can’t get worse than this.’

And he was right. It didn’t. It got better!

Would he love to see Megumi and Nobara again? Of course. Would he love to punt that goddamn cursed doll he’s been training with across a field? Words cannot describe his desire to sear the image of the life slowly snuffed out of those black beady souless eyes, for once, he enjoyed Sukunas fantasies.

But all things considered, living in his future executioner’s basement has been… surprisingly sweet. Gojo’s a shockingly good host.

Life is good.

He wakes up and goes through the motions. 

shower, brush his teeth, cook breakfast, stop Sukuna from eating half the bacon again, bargain with the king of curses to take his soul instead because bacon is worth more, cry because the one thousand year old hitler reincarnated curse told him he’d rather suck gojo off then eat his soul, realize that’s a good thing – for itadori, not gojo, oh no he’s fucked, literally-, set the table, greet gojo.

“Good mornin’, breakfast has arrived!”

Blink, he stares blankly “Morning yuuji,” His voice is flat, distant, like the dial on his soul’s been turned all the way down. The man vacantly sits across him, all is well. 

The student takes the first bite out of his waffle, syrup dribbling off. In comparison to his pupil, Gojo's plate looked like a sea, syrup drowning from one end to the other. His one-inch pancakes (yes, they're that big) are drenched to the point of soggy collapse, and floods his bacon, eggs, tangerine slices, and cup (how’d it get in there? Did he pour syrup into his milk? Now that's cursed behavior)

They were having a western-inspired dinner this morning. ripped straight from a particularly notable movie Itadori watched yesterday, also Hells Kitchen, mostly Hells Kitchen.

“Got any missions today?” Itadori asks. Gojo is oddly quiet in his chair, it's making him uncomfortable. Typically, at dawn, he’s either groggy or way too energetic; there's no in-between. Right now, though… He’s seated upright, perfectly still, no slouch, no dramatic flop into the chair, none of the usual Gojo-isms. Just… sitting. Existing. Void of vibe.

“No… if there is, I’ll call off.” Finally… a response. monotone as it is, it’s better than allowing wild conspiracy theories to contaminate itadoris brain, discussing whether or not an alien (why not curse?) possesed his pseudo-guardian.

“Uhm, any reason?”

Silence.

It clings to him, The kind of silence that sticks to your skin like sweat.

Then Gojo speaks again, soft, quiet, “Yuuji… are you feeling okay?”

HE SHOULD BE ASKING THAT, “Yeah I'm fine, what about you, Gojo-sensei?” because he is not looking hot, a fever? nah, he’s the strongest, he’d never get sick from something like a common cold… maybe the black plague…? It might be a close call… Would he lose though? nah, he’d win.

Gojo says nothing else. He stays eerily quiet for the rest of the meal, poking at his syrup-swamped plate but never actually eating.

If you thought his silent treatment was worrying enough, he got worse. Every time Gojo sees him, he jumps and clings onto the junior. 

“Yuuji-kun, do you need help lifting that?” It was laundry.

“Yuuji-kun, don’t strain yourself too hard!” It was the training he set up for him!

“Yuuji-kun… isn't that movie… a little too harsh for you?” he recommended it last week!

For some, this may all seem not too bad, if not slightly overprotective. And in general, isn't Gojo always a bit controlling? And they’d be right, if it wasn’t for the fact he called off missions for the day. 

He’s been glued to him all day, always with that air-headed, dazed behavior! Worse, he’s acting like Yuuji might break if he breathes too hard.

Yuuji’s not dumb.

Something happened.

He just doesn’t know what yet.

This all came to a culmination when they were watching movies. At first, it was for Itadori's training, but after the bear hit him, Gojo confiscated it! So now, they're just binging movies for no reason!

He so badly wants to grumble, scream, and complain, but refrains from doing so in fear of incurring gojos… wrath? insecurity? He's not really sure, nothing is set in stone with this unstable mood of Gojo.

One minute he’s cracking jokes, the next he’s staring off into space like he saw God and didn’t like what he heard.

Now they were halfway through yet another movie marathon. Or at least, they would've been if Gojo would stop skipping everything.

Every horror movie? “Too scary.”

Action? “Too violent.”

Romance? “Too mature.”

Drama? “Too complicated.”

Yuuji’s jaw twitched.

His grandpa used to coddle him like this when he was in grade school, He’s not a baby anymore.

He’s fifteen, Not five.

The breaking point?

Gojo puts on a literal toddler show.

Bright colors. Talking animals. Someone spelling “apple” in slow, exaggerated syllables.

‘This is getting out of hand,’ Yuuji thinks as he begins his journey of wiggling out of Gojos lap.

Gojo had Itadori nestled snugly between his legs, arms coiled tightly around him in a lazy embrace. His fingers drifted rhythmically through Itadori’s hair, slow and absentminded, as if lulling him into calm. And the finishing touch? He’d swaddled the poor boy in an absurdly thick cocoon of blankets—layer upon layer, like a human burrito.

It was suffocating. The heat clung to him, slick and unbearable, and the sheer weight of the blankets pressed down like a sandbag.

 “Sensei- get… off… me-!”

But Gojo only tugged him closer, muttering disgruntled protests under his breath- HE’S THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE COMPLAINING. And he- what, why is his hair wet? That’s impossible, there's only one way for that to happen. But that was insane, Unthinkable.

Gojo licked his hair

…

Gojo

his teacher

Yeah, you know

That teacher

The strongest sorcerer alive

Licked… his hair

…

……

………..

What the fuck

He can hear a low purr emit from behind him

What the fuck

Gojo begins rubbing his head against his face and shoulders

What the fuck

What the fuck

What

The

Fuck

“Sense-” His protest barely escapes before Gojo shushes him with another deliberate swipe of saliva across his locks. Wet. Warm. Gross.

How did it come to this? What possessed Gojo to do that? Where had things gone so utterly off the rails? “Sensei, stop!”

A lower pitch hums from Gojo's chest; The sound rises and falls in odd waves, off-tempo, not quite a tune but enough to catch the brain off guard. The longer he listens to the offbeat noise, the more his body begins to slacken, mushing into jelly. 

It’s like it’s meant to be comforting, That’s what unsettles him the most.

The way Gojo snuggles against him, tightly cuddling in a protective, almost possessive manner.

But he's like…bad at it? He hugs the boy too tight. He can’t move. The sheets and arms have formed a soft cage. and the…purrs. 

Gojo-sensei is purring.

Gojo-sensei is purring.

Gojo Sensei Is Purring.

It’s not even good purring. It's choppy and inconsistent, like a kid trying to mimic a cat for the first time. Crude, unpolished. Full of awkward passion and broken tones. Itadori can’t tell if he should feel honored or horrified.

Spoiler: he feels horrified.

Gojo won’t speak. Won’t let go. And worse, his cursed energy is leaking, flooding the room in wild, uncontrolled pulses.

This has to be a curse, some kind of twisted manipulation. His teacher is being controlled.

Please say it’s true, he doesn't want to think of the implications if not.

After two reluctantly complied through episodes of Okaasan to issho, Itadori strains a look upward. Much to Gojo's annoyance, his interpretation of the snarls and growls is something like “Stop moving”. 

Blue

Captivating, Eternal, Enrapturing, 

Blue. 

A sky frozen in time.

Gojo removed his blind fold. He repeats, Gojo-sensei isn't covering his eyes. The only other time he’s even seen those baby blues was against Mt. Fuji head! 

Did he take them off to get comfortable? It might be difficult relaxing with it on, he assumes. Hasn't Gojo been wearing it for some years? Although itadori's pretty sure he doesn't sleep with it on.

Wait

How long are they gonna be doing this? If… is Gojo trying to put him to sleep? He can’t feel his legs anymore. They’ve completely fallen asleep, pinned under the full weight of Gojo’s ethically questionable cuddling techniques.

….

He can't take this

What started as a well-meaning gesture – offering to sit with Gojo while his cursed energy flared out of control – has turned into a slow, suffocating death sentence. This wasn’t how he had pictured going out. 

Not by cursed spirit. 

Not by battlefield wound.

But by bear hug from his high(?) teacher.

He’s going to die — crushed in his sleep by his overly affectionate, possibly drunk teacher. It’s not heroic. It’s not dignified, it’s not even sanitary .

“Sensei… I’M SORRY, SENSEI, BUT YOU’VE GOT TO GET OFF ME!”

In one explosive motion, he kicks off Gojo’s lap and scrambles to his feet, the blankets unraveling like dominos. Gojo lunges after him instantly, a snarl of betrayal ripping from his throat as he reaches out. Fingers snatching hold of Itadori’s nape- which hurts, Itadori's not some fucking cat. You can’t lift him by the scruff when he has none!

“I DONT WANNA BE A PLUSHIE!” He thrashes, twisting away, batting at Gojo’s grabby hand with enough desperation to break free. Gojo growls (actually growls) his grip slipping as Itadori tears himself from the threat of compliance. 

He slams the door shut behind him, the solid THUNK echoing like the sealing of a tomb. From the other side, he can hear the chaos—Gojo’s confused, sleepy, bird-brained attempts to operate a simple door handle.

Click

Rattle

Wrong way, sensei.

But this isn’t over.

If he leaves the house, Gojo won’t chase- he’ll teleport. Itadori might be fast, but instant transmission is faster. There’s only one option.

He dives across the room, snatches up the first phone he sees, and throws himself into the storage closet, pulling the door shut and holding his breath.

Ring

Ring

“Hai, Nanamin!”

“Itadori..? Why are you calling from Gojo's phone?”

“Ah, well, Gojo-sensei's been acting-”

Thump

Bang

“-strange today”

“What do you mean?”

“He wrapped me in a blanket and started… purring…”

There’s a pause, Too long, too Heavy.

“He…. Itadori?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know what a dynamic is?”

“Huh, like… a relationship dynamic? Is this a math thing?”

Crash

Crack

Nanami sighs, Audibly, The kind of sigh that says ‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’ for you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I will be coming over soon.”

“Thank you, Nanamin!”

“Dont thank me, you should be reprimanding Gojo-san for being so irresponsible.”

Itadori winces, Even the idea of scolding Gojo feels wrong, Spiritually, Cosmically.

“Either way, you're a major help! Come here quick though, He just broke out of the basement.”

He's not even gonna ask, it sounds about right.

Gojo was upset.

He’d been happily nesting, arms full of warm, pliant blankets, his newly presented omega tucked in just right between his legs- when Yuuji suddenly bolted. No warning, No sound. One second, they were cuddled up; the next his pup was gone, sprinting up the stairs like the house was on fire.

Gojo panicked.

Naturally, he gave chase. But when he reached the top- bam ! The door slammed shut in his face.

At first, he thought, ‘Okay. Just open it.’

Logical, Sensible, Mature.

Except… he couldn’t.

Something was stopping him, Some kind of lock? Or mechanism? He didn’t know – his brain was running at about five frames per second, buffering between ‘Why is my pup gone?’ and ‘Break door now.’

His only choice now? loudly whine for his pup's attention while attempting to materialize through the door. “Yuuji!” he didn't respond. He rattled the doorknob. Slammed his shoulder into the frame. Useless. The door was holding firm and his omega was in there somewhere , silent and scared. Damnit!

His hand curled into a fist, and before he could register the motion-

CRACK

His arm punched clean through the wood.

“…Oh.”

The entire house was thick with the sour, sharp scent of a distressed omega.

His Yuuji, Hiding, From him?

He sniffed again, scenting the air, nose wrinkling with confusion and worry. The pup had seemed receptive earlier. He wasn't too forward, was he? The alpha expressed his intentions to nest hours ago- the pre-scenting and everything! 

Were there more steps he wasn't aware of? 

Yuuji was newly presented, A late bloomer. Late bloomers were more sensitive, more easily overwhelmed. Of course! That had to be it. He just didn’t understand. Poor pup. Probably scared out of his mind because Gojo didn’t explain it in digestible terms.

“Yuuji~” The house looks empty, and it’s making him nervous. What if a curse got to him? He wanted to scream for a response, but stopped in fear of spooking the pup further. 

No, no, no 

Yuuji would never run from him

It must be that alpha, Sukuna. 

It infuriated him to think that guy was influencing Yuuji- making Gojo’s cursed energy spike so high the hallway lights flickered. That parasite was tainting him, polluting such a sweet omega, it truly was a foul rancid thing that clung to Yuuji's soul.

Ah ~ he’s really gonna have to tear this house from the ground to find him. If Yuuji was in danger, if Gojo was even seconds too late, he’d never forgive himself. Not like he’d abandon the pup because of a simple, easily fixed ideology change. He wasn’t some bone-headed curse user in rut. He’s a Special Grade Sorcerer , he has control.

(mostly)

“Curse technique lapse: Blu-”

A knock at the door, “Eh?”

"Gojo-san," Nanami called, stepping into the threshold. "Itadori-kun called me for help." 

He barely made it through the doorway before stopping dead.

The air hit him like a wall— thick, heavy with the scent of an alpha in rut. And not just any alpha, It was unmistakably Gojo. The man had tried to mask it, layering it clumsily with a sweeter, more nurturing note, he can confidently say it failed.

“...Did you forget to take your suppressors?” From what he’s heard from the man himself was that Gojos' ruts have always been intense. Even as a kid, his cursed energy used to spike so hard during them, the Gojo clan had no choice but to medicate him aggressively. like how most grade two and up do. It became routine, Like clockwork.

Except for today, "I'm going to look for Yuuji," Gojo said flatly, standing in the middle of the hall, impersonating a broken statue. His eyes were blank, unfocused, the Six Eyes glowing faintly, but there was nobody home . “I’d advise you to calm down before you accidentally kill someone-”

He gagged mid-sentence. The scent hit him full force: rain and crushed hyacinth, sweet but choking, raw power bleeding into the air like static. It shouldn’t have been the signature of an apex alpha. It was far too soft, delicate, something you’d expect from a beta with a preference for tea and poetry. Not this arrogant skyscraper of a man whose hisses equate to a tigers' roar.

“Gojo-san,” he tried, stepping carefully now. “I am not challenging you-"

Gojo growled at him, eyes flashing.

Goddamn this rut-brained lunatic.

"Nanamin!" a voice called out from the top of the stairs.

Nanami looked up sharply.

Gojo’s entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. “Yuuji~!” he trilled, voice sugar-sweet and alluring.

“AGH! Nanamin protect me!”

And just like that, Nanami was cast (without his consent) into the role of Itadori’s human shield.

He’d defended students before. That was fine, Part of the job. But defending one from Gojo Satoru, aka the strongest, while fully-rutted?

This was above his pay grade.

“Itadori-kun,” he said, gritting his teeth. “He’s not-”

“HISSSSSS,” Gojo snapped, lips curling back like an alley cat.

“HEY! Don’t hiss at Nanamin you feral beast!” Itadori shouted.

“Itadori, don’t agitate G-”

But it was too late.

Gojo lunged.

Itadori had been in a lot of compromising positions in his life. Once, the Occult Club decided to explore an abandoned hospital they found online. It was supposed to be“haunted as hell,” according to the shady forum Sasaki had dug up from the dark web.

It was kinda creepy, for normal people's standards it might have been worse.

Turned out to be a huge letdown. Half the place was barricaded, the rest smelled like mildew and regret. “All that snooping on the dark web for nothing…!” If he remembers correctly, Sasaki had been really looking forward to this; she’d prepared weeks earlier.

As they reached the front entrance, a rat jumped out and Sasaki and iguchi fainted. leaving Itadori to carry them to each of their individual houses. 

He feels like right now is one of those situations. 

Gojo wasn’t licking his hair anymore. That was an improvement. He also wasn’t encasing him like a weighted blanket made of limbs and unchecked hormones.

But he’s still purring

Louding.

“‘Dynamic’? You said that earlier… during the phone call?” Itadori asked hesitantly, trying not to flinch every time Gojo’s breath warmed the back of his neck.

“Yes,” Nanami said from the couch across the room, calmly sipping mint tea like this was a perfectly average Thursday. "I'm assuming Gojo hasn't taught you about it yet?"

They're located in the living room, Itadori, not wanting to be trapped, suggested this placement.

“Nope, is it important?” he can hear an oncoming lecture permeate the air. Knowing this, Itadori tried to shift Gojo off his lap just a little, enough to hear properly. The man huffed but didn’t fight it.

Nanami must’ve done something earlier that calmed Gojo down, because now he was mewling contentedly instead of trying to chew through the table.

“Very – a dynamic is sort of like a social status or secondary gender every sorcerer has.” Whoa, does that mean he’s secretly been a man and a woman his entire life? Wait, no, that doesn't make sense, he became a sorcerer two months ago. 

So for the past two months, he's been half a woman? That should probably be more disturbing. But the more he thought about it, the more… meh it felt. If he hadn’t noticed until now, then maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it was just... natural.

Actually, he kind of didn’t mind the idea. Not that he had words for it. It didn’t feel wrong. Just... surprising.

He just realized something… if he's half girl…. nope, nevermind, this is absolutely horrifying. Cancel the thought

“Whatever thoughts are streaming through your head, you're not far off or right,” Nanami drags him back to reality.

“Eh- what does that mean, I’m not half girl half guy?”

“Please let me finish before theorizing.” Oi, why’s he look so disappointed in him! What else could a ‘second-gender’ possibly mean? “Sorcerers are not born with a dynamic like you would with gender, instead, they are ‘presented’ at the same time you gain a technique-”

“What about someone with only cursed energy!?” Itadori shot his hand up like he was back in school — unintentionally jerking Gojo’s attached arm with him, which made the man let out a soft, sleepy whine. “My bad, Sensei!”

“Itadori… stop interrupting, I was go-”

“Sorry, Nanamin! wont happen again, I promise!”

For some reason, Nanami is even more pissed. Did he say something…? “No more speaking, I am going to explain, got it?”

Itadori nodded with an overly cheery thumbs up, not realizing he was guiding Gojo’s limp arm along with the gesture.

Gojo trills

Nanami considers his life choices.

“Those without a technique usually develop their dynamic around puberty,” Nanami continued, resting his tea cup on his knee. “That’s one path. The other is awakening it alongside a cursed technique. But you're a special case.”

“Sukuna was the reason you became a sorcerer,” the seven-to-three sorcerer paused “You didn’t originally have a dynamic, so your body is rushing to catch up. I suspect Sukuna’s scent is accelerating that process.”

He took another sip of now-lukewarm tea. He didn’t like hot drinks much, iced was his preference, but as a sorcerer, he rarely had the luxury of time. Even now, sitting here calmly explaining what Gojo should have covered weeks ago, he was mentally cataloguing four things that could go wrong with every breath.

“There are three primary dynamics,” Nanami said, refocusing. “Alphas stand at the top of the hierarchy—typically larger, stronger, physically dominant. In cursed energy and in body. The ones you know include Gojo, Sukuna, and Nobara.

Betas sit in the middle. They’re the most common among sorcerers, and closest to non-sorcerers in behavior. The ones you know would be Fushiguro, Yaga, Ijichi, Ieri… and myself.

Omegas are… technically at the bottom.”

“Uhm—I'm supposed to stay quiet, but…” Itadori leaned forward slightly. “You sound pretty unsure?”

Gojo took this as an invitation to nuzzle into his shoulder, scenting happily.

“GOJO-SENSEI, STOP!” Itadori squawked, trying to elbow him off.

Gojos' whimpering again… this is such a hassle.

“Gojo-san, Itadori isn't inviting you to scent, he isn't aware of sorcerer etiquette.” Gojo growls but eventually let’s up. Itadori lights up when the term ‘scent’ is used, curious to hear an oddly placed word. 

Nanami sighs, “You’re right, Omegas aren't in the social hierarchy anymore, there hasn't been any to rank them.”

“Why's that?”

“No one knows for sure, it might be an evolutionary reason- there is no more because we've evolved past the need for one, but no one can say with absolute positivity. 

“They were softer. More emotionally attuned. Physically more fragile. Though… there were exceptions.”

Itadori nods along; he’s following surprisingly well. “You said I'm rushing my own dynamic…. what is it?” He's keeping it on the down low, but Nanami can see his eyes sparkle in excitement.

Nanami doesn't really get it, to him, dynamics are half of his stress as a sorcerer. As if god didn't already damn them with the inability to be mentally secure, he also forced them to act like literal animals. The man upstairs has to be talking with sorcerers, who would want this biology?

And no- Nanami wasn’t bitter just because he was a Beta. He wouldn’t want to be Alpha either. And Omega? Absolutely not. He glanced at Gojo again, arms looped around the boy’s waist like a vine.

Definitely not.

“That's why I told you about Omegas…” Nanami breathes in, Gojos engulfing mist having calmed from the booming rain storm, is what he first smells. underneath is Nanami’s own pheromones, expresso martini, passively wafting in the room. 

But now there was something new.

A faint perfume of burnt sugar and peach blossoms.

“I have zero clue how , but you're an omega, Itadori. the first in a hundred years.”

He expects shock, disturbance, an existential crisis that would only work for someone who wasn't Sukuna's vessel- anyone else but Itadori.

“Cool, I’m like one-in-a-million!” He cheers in a self-contained manner 

“You're not… worried?”

“Why would I be? I guess if being an ‘omega’ means I’ll be weaker thats a little annoying,” he says it, but he doesn't sound dejected. “That just means I’ll have to work ten times as hard!”

Nanami is befuddled.

“We’re getting off topic! Why is Gojo stuck to me like magnets!?” To emphasize and give an example, he pushes Gojo away in failure. 

“R-right,” it has just hit Nanami, he is being forced to teach niche sex-ed when he is NOT equipped for it, he should start charging Gojo like Mei-mei does. 

He clears his throat; he’s the adult, someone needs to tell Itadori this, and he just happens to be that person. It's much better than anything Gojo would say- didn't he just ignore the topic?

“Alphas and Omegas Go into- respectively- a rut for alphas and heat for omegas. alphas…think of them like men and omegas like women- were you taught canine mating cycles in school?”

Itadori's expression falls, disgust lining his next words, “so… you're telling me…”

“Gojo is not courting you.”

“Thank god….” Itadori eases into the couch, feeling relieved and rejuvenated like a newborn. It's not actually possible for him to fall into the couch, so he falls into Gojo instead. Chirps and trills greet his ears at the gifted touch. 

He hadn't thought it till Nanami said it, but now that he knows he's not trying to do anything weird (or murder him- most likely), Itadori gives Gojo more access to cuddle, much to the alpha's appreciation

He can hear Sukuna laughing in his mind at the notion. something about how no six eyes user would court someone so prude- hey! He’s insulting him again, that jerk. “So, what's he doing?”

“He’s nesting with you,” Nanami stated, voice calm but tired. “It’s something Omegas do with friends, family, or… partners. Think of it like how cats groom each other.”

Itadori’s eyes widened. That... actually made too much sense.

FINALLY, he gets an explanation for the hair licking!!

Oh yeah, it also explained some other things.

If they were being compared to dogs and cats, it also explained why Gojo had gone completely feral. All instincts, no brain cells. Just a six-foot cuddle monster running on fumes and snuggles.

“Alphas and beta also do it, but only with omegas, and even then, that's unusual to enact on its own. Since I'm not….experienced in this field, I can't pinpoint the exact reason why he's so adamant.” 

There really was no logical reason. Sure, Gojo was a naturally touchy person, going out of his way to lean on people or invade personal space like it wasn't optional. But this? This was something else entirely.

More troubling was that Gojo barely seemed to recognize him. The glazed, unfocused way he looked at Nanami… it was like his brain had filtered out anything that wasn’t Itadori.

Was he even aware Itadori was his student? Or was he just acting on instinct, seeing an unclaimed Omega and snapping into high alert?

“You said omegas don’t exist anymore, so you've never met one, right?” Nanami stumbles out of his pondering once Itadori speaks up. 

“That is correct.”

“Then maybe that’s the problem?” Itadori shrugged lightly, his teacher still draped over his shoulders like a sentient heating pad. “Gojo-sensei’s probably never nested before, so he’s overcompensating?” 

That's a good point, highly likely. Nanamin’s impressed Itadori could guess that with the little knowledge he knows. “And uh, he probably doesn't know how to nest properly in the first place.”

Also valid. Gojo’s version of ‘nesting’ looked like he’d shoved every soft surface in the house into one corner, thrown himself and Itadori in the middle, and called it a day.

Nanami inhaled, regretting it immediately. Gojo’s scent was cloying, strong enough to make his head throb. The air was saturated with that sickening mix of rain and blooming flowers, too sweet and too much. Even with suppressants, Nanami could feel it clinging to his sinuses.

The whole situation is making him lightheaded, and if someone who takes suppressants had an early rut simply by smelling Itadori’s faint still immature scent, then what does that mean for Nanami?

“I’ll send you a document on the specifics of dynamic. If you have any questions after, call me.” The blonde man parts from his seat, adjusting his coat.

“You're leaving?” he feels slightly guilty watching Itadori's saddened eyes. He wasn’t abandoning the boy; he just had a strong aversion to passing out on someone else's floor from scent overload. The responsible thing, ironically, was to step out before he became the unstable one.

“Yes. Again, you should be fine,” Nanami said firmly. As he reached for his knife, something made him halt.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“It’s a parental instinct,” is added quietly. “He’s trying to comfort you.”

Itadori didn’t look entirely convinced, and honestly? That was probably the healthiest response.

Realistically, Nanami shouldn’t be leaving an unbonded Omega alone with a rutting Alpha. But staying any longer would likely tilt the balance even worse. Alpha standoffs – especially with Gojo involved – never ended cleanly. If Gojo felt challenged, he'd try to “impress” Itadori (as if he doesn't already do that every day) with brute strength or a show of power.

And Nanami did not want to be on the business end of a Hollow Purple just because Gojo’s instincts were in full runway model mode.

“Take care,” giving a small respectful bow, then shutting the door behind him, Nanami leaves.

Gojo visually relaxes on Itadori, who gulps before easing himself, “Hopefully you’ll be back to normal soon.”

Chapter Text

Plates and silverware clink, porcelain against steel. Itadori tries to avoid Gojos' eyes, bright burning blue focused on his own hazel. He tries to ignore the glaze over his pupils, the creeping sensation of being trapped. If one were to thrust itadori in a room with eldritch abomination, he’d sense no difference. 

Across the table, Gojo eats carelessly- no regard for flavor or manner. He devours the food with an expression that screams, I hate this , yet his lips twist into a smile that lies, I love this .

“It’s a parental instinct, He’s trying to comfort you.”

Gojo sees himself as Itadori's parental figure, guardian. He sees itadori as his own, is that true without the rut? Memories flash- fragmented scenes of time spent with another man. Older, Gray-haired, Grouchy. A man Itadori will never see again.

An orphan. That’s what Itadori is, and always has been. He never knew what having parents felt like. No one came to parents’ day. He walked home alone from the park. He learned to cook because Gramps was always in the hospital.

He grew up alone.

No one knew (or cared to know) that truth.

“Itadori? He’s the toughest kid on the block! And he’s got his grandfather, right? How could he be lonely?”

Should he tell them an old man in a hospital bed isn’t enough? Should he say that the ‘strongest kid’ is still just a kid?

No. There’s no point in complaining about what can't be changed.

Gojo is an adult. He’s the strongest.

And yet, the idea of their relationship fitting into the words child and parent feels...wrong. Uncanny. Disjointed. He’s Gojo- sensei , not… not…

Gojo finished his food, Itadori hadn't even begun. “I’ll eat later” words he doesn't believe. 

“Uhm, Gojo-sensei…” he started, The man in white tilted his head. Wow, Nanamin wasn’t kidding when he said ‘canine.’

“I’m gonna go prepare for sleep, so you should also do that too…” he’s wondering if gojo even understands him. He gives full attention whenever Itadori speaks- eyes locked on, posture engaged, mimicking the action of actual processing. but Itadori had a sneaking suspicion he was just listening to the sounds , not the words .

Gojo blinked, standing dumbly in the middle of the kitchen.

“Uh- im…  gonna go to bed now”Itadori had half a mind to lock the basement door tonight, hiding like a kid from the monster under the bed. To be fair, with those eyes, Gojo could pass for a cryptid!

Something clicked in that vast, empty expanse of Gojo’s head. He made a happy, chirping noise, and then approached.

Itadori instinctively raised his arms, flinching as Gojo nipped the back of his neck again. Again with the nape ! Itadoris’s gonna have to seriously interrogate nanamin tomorrow ‘cause this is ridiculous! 

However this time Itadori falls limp in his grip. 

Eh?

One more time he tries to move his legs, toes aching to graze the floor. Surprise, surprise, he cant feel a thing! Oddly enough, when someone says “I can’t move or feel my body,” you'd expect pain or panic. But it didn’t hurt. Not really. Uncomfortable? Yes. But in a strange way… also comfortable .

Feeling his eyes slowly close, Itadori allows himself to droop. 

Very odd indeed… is this some sort of…

…

…

…

He actually doesn't know. 

Do dogs do this? He’s sensing a lot of similarities to a puppy… he would complain about this being embarrassing if not for the fact that; 

1, Itadori can't summon the energy too

2, gojo had done this before

He’d carried Itadori in a much more compromising position in previous time — against Mount Fuji Head, no less. That memory alone was enough to make this feel routine.

It only unnerved him of the drug-like serenity occupying his body. As anxiety for his situation arose, comforts of the same variety surfaced from his unconscious mind.

That’s concerning

Gojo led them back to his room. Upon entering, he dropped Itadori unceremoniously onto the bed. Itadori lay there, watching and entranced as Gojo completely forgot about him. His teacher's awareness of the teen evaporated, replaced by…rummaging? The man frantically searches for soft surfaces — oh, they're doing this again.

‘He’s nesting with you, It’s something Omegas do with friends, family, or… partners. Think of it like how cats groom each other.’

Itadori still didn’t think the term “nesting” really fit. Birds made nests out of sticks and twigs. Gojo just buried him in blankets and wrapped around him like an overgrown ferret.

With the Alpha’s attention otherwise occupied, Itadori made a quiet escape, sliding off the edge of the king bed and slipping from the silk sheets (because of course Gojo-sensei would have silk sheets).

Gojo’s room could only be described as a future case study, the kind of place that would give a psychiatrist recurring nightmares.

It was a shrine to impulse buys and aesthetic confusion: a gleaming, slow-waving robot perched on a shelf (Itadori immediately dubbed it “the cutest thing alive” and decided he needed one), a vivid rug dyed in clashing shades of orange and green that looked like it lost a fight with a tie-dye factory, and a mysterious plastic figurine that straddled the line between dinosaur and Digimon — its true identity lost to time… or poor labeling .

On the bedside table sat a single oversized cup with a handle, unapologetically bulky, Itadori notes it’s  a ‘Stanley’ cup.

He recognized it immediately for one very specific, very traumatic reason: Kugisaki had gone feral over them the week before their last mission. She’d yapped about it for hours.

No escape. No peace.

The cup haunted him.

“Itadori, did you see the new color they released!?”

“Isn't this the same-”

“TCH, why do I even bother with a colorblind numbskull like you!?”

He recalls Megumi asking if she got “second-hand insanity” from Gojo, obviously he whispered it (which meant it wasn't for itadori’s ear) but it was so loud, how could he not hear it! should be more quiet next time if you don't want listeners… 

“Why don’t you just buy one!?” ‘And stop bugging me’ was left unsaid, but very much heard

“Cause I'm broke…”

Cue the explosion of energy that was their teacher bursting through the door. “Did someone ask for a gift~!” and just like that, their sensei bought Kgisaki the entire set of overpriced tumblers! well… except for a few

“Eh..? Where's all the blues?”

“Ah… You see, they were out of stock, such a shame!”

Kugisaki gave her teacher a long, good, look. Was her teacher infamous for being a goofball? Yes. Did she care enough to investigate instead of gushing over her new lovely cups? No! “Whatever” she said. Not like she cares much for blue anyway

Itadori stared at the scandalous collection of blue cups lined up like trophies — his teacher was, without a doubt, a serial thief. His eyes drifted lower, only to land on something even more questionable: an assortment of sweets displayed neatly in minimalist pottery bowls (he swears they have a name).

Shouldn't these be in the… kitchen?

Is he seriously questioning gojo?

The rest of the rooms feeled old and worn, not that it is, it just feels that way. If it did deceive his eyes, the preservation was phenomenal (first time itadori used that word! who's an idiot now kurosawa-sensei!).

There were faded snapshots of times long gone, books whose spines looked ready to give out, and a quiet motif repeating throughout the space: a trio of koi fish, three small paintings clinging stubbornly to the wall, and a photograph of three teenagers grinning with the kind of joy that only survives in memory.

purple, blue, brown

Eventually, the photos on the walls began to shift — groups of three breaking into pairs, and then quietly merging into one. That’s when Fushiguro began to appear. His face wasn’t in the first few. Then, slowly, he was in all of them.

Gojo, naturally, broke the quiet spell by bumping into a lamp. The crash jolted Itadori back to reality remembering his original goal — a shower! Said shower is cut short when the previously mentioned man cries like a hostage mere minutes after he started. His exit from the bathroom lacked the grace of his entrance, mostly because Gojo tackled him halfway through.

Gojo chittered with excitement, rambling in what could only be described as animalistic noises, eyes gleaming as he pulled Itadori forward with wild urgency.

Itadori was a teensy bit eager, or more appropriately interested to see what gojo had been working for the past twenty minutes. His face scrunches up in confusion at the now presented…pile of blankets and clothes?

Gojo beamed, eyes sparkling with pride.

Itadori squinted “Is this supposed to be a… pillow fort?”

It looked like something that wanted to be one but never quite got there.

He had to assume Gojo never made any as a kid. Still, the pile had all the right components: blankets, pillows, sheer chaos. Itadori gave a weary smile to his grinning guardian, who responded with another excited rumble and a hopeful stare.

What does he want from him?

Are they gonna…. nest… again or what? Maybe he wants him to fix the slop of fluffy pillows? That seems to be the correct answer as gojo gives a loud confirming click at Itadoris actions. He could've made it himself but okay…

The fort was fairly easy to build — the problem was that nothing felt correct . Like there was a specific image in mind he had to uphold, to materialize in the real world. All while Gojo contently watched from the side.

Eventually, the pillow fort reached a level of familiarity that felt… finished. Without thinking much of it, Itadori crawled inside — instinct had quietly taken the lead. It was pretty comfortable, Warm, padded, vaguely lopsided. felt like how people describe ‘safe places’. Plushies lined the walls, and the blanket ceiling was secured with help from nearby shelves. It was messy, sure, but in a way that invited you to breathe.

Still… something was off. Not wrong, just incomplete.

He sat up half-way and called out “Sensei?”

Gojo appeared at the entrance with an energy that suggested he’d been waiting for the cue. He expected the adult to casually enter like he owned the makeshift castle, but instead he stood dutifully like a kid waiting to be picked up — was this pillow fort manners? 

“you know you can come in, sensei.” He still wasn't sure how to talk to this version of his teacher, it was like having a conversation with a drunk (not like he knew what that's like)

At the invitation, Gojo let out a thrilled trill and dove in with such speed that the entire structure shifted dangerously. Itadori’s brain conjured an image of the whole fort collapsing, and before he could stop himself he snarled. Gojo froze mid-crawl, distressed, th– i’m sorry….did he just fucking snarl? he snarled at the prospect of the fort caving…

Itadori

he snarled

Gojo let out a string of high-pitched keens, soft and rapid. Desperately attempting an apology through sound alone. His teachers' movements halted completely, as if freezing could undo what had just happened. The look on his face bordered on hysterical, eyes wide with panic, shame pooling behind them 

Ah right, one thing at a time. 

“Sorry, sensei,” Itadori muttered, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I just got angsty.” The effect was immediate, Gojo’s expression melted in record time The storm clouds vanished, feigning they’d never been there in the first place. In their place bloomed his signature smile — wide-eyed, unbothered, a little too bright to be fully trusted. But it was him .

Striking while the emotional iron was still hot, Gojo scrambled the rest of the way inside and nestled in behind Itadori, tucking himself between the pillow wall and his student’s back.

Without asking, he pressed close, nuzzling his face gently into Itadori’s messy pink hair. This isn't so bad, all he has to do is snuggle for a night? easy. Although he’s not used to this intimate close contact such as hugging (he’d never had anyone besides his gramps to hug, that ended when he was in the hospital) he could get used to the sensation.

It was warm, the body heat entrapped by the blankets, he could feel the rise from Gojo's chest lulling him to sleep. Gojo seemingly learned the proper amount of pressure to hug itadori, arms resembling a large teddybear.

It's okay, right? 

To enjoy this sort of thing? 

Gojo croons above him, licking his locks as a form of cleaning- It ruffled his hair to replicate a trash heap but Itadoris’ hair has always been messy (gramps gave up on it when he was seven). There's an odd rumbling that tickles his throat, unfamiliar and yet persistent, insisting it’s nature. A determined sound that scratches to be released from its jail.

So Itadori unlocks the door to the cell.

A small satisfied vibrating noise is echoed in the small cramped space. Behind him, Gojo froze. The purring slowed, the absent-minded grooming halted mid-motion. Silence crept in.

Then came a confused, stuttering sound from Itadori — a short, off-kilter squeak that seemed to surprise even himself. It was meant to be a chuff, maybe, but came out as something caught between a hiccup and a chirp, the vocal equivalent to tripping over his own shoelaces.

Unused instincts. Underdeveloped cords.

Gojo blinked once, then twice, and without missing another beat, stumbled out of his own shock. He trilled in response, the sound gentle and warm, trailing into a rich, melodic purr that enveloped them both.

Itadori felt something bloom in his chest and responded in kind — his own purring deeper now, steadier, the two sounds weaving together as threads in a lullaby. 

A rhythm 

A language without words

Itadori’s eyes close

Morning light seeped through the cracks in the curtains, casting sleepy golden beams across the wreckage of the once glorious pillow fort. Most of it had caved in sometime during the night, no problem, he’ll just rebuild it later (why does that sound so natural?).

His head turns to see an outspread gojo staring back at him with beady pure blue eyes, he could tell there was little to no thought behind them. “Mornin’ gojo-sensei”

“Good morning Yuuji-kun~”

Itadori mentally jumps at his teachers regained consciousness, laying still outwardly. Was he really okay after such a short time span? He’s happy that his teacher's usual state is replenished, but from how nanamin spoke he expected more… chaos? Maybe some cryptic muttering or spontaneous sobbing. But this?

Gojo really only acted like an overprotective, overgrown, overneedy cat. Huh, Maybe that’s why him and Megumi get along. They’re both high-maintenance in their own weird ways.

Reaching out, Itadori gently poked his teacher on the nose. “Are… you normal again, Sensei?”

“Yep!” Gojo beamed, immediately ruffling the boy’s already-messy hair. It was playful, familiar and a gate way for the rough housing that begins. This is how itadort knows it's his sensei and not… rut? And while he’d honestly kind of enjoyed the cuddly, clingy nesting last night… he definitely preferred this version.

Itadori giggles (in a manly way — Itadori doesn't giggle like a american 90s rom-com girl. he more so chuckles — in a giggly way, it’s not fragile masculinity if it’s the truth) “if your good now, can we go out?” Staying in the house with a manic practically demigod does get on the nerves (and the brain, and the lungs, and the stomach, and the hea- that's enough). 

He'd been dying to get outside.

“Not quite, pup,” itadoris gonna choose to ignore that (as in ‘puppy’? were sorcerers really just big dogs in black trench coats?) “I’m not a hundred percent” 

That makes no sense, gojos speaking to him just fine right now, Yesterday, he could barely manage a full sentence. Itadori disagrees with his teacher's statement, so he makes the disagreement known. “But your acting just fine right now, I thought this was a mental thing?”

Gojo gives a hearty laugh, ending it with a flick to his disciples nose, " of course it is, but it goes much deeper than not speaking — that’s actually unusual.” In short “I won't be good for another few days”

Itadori slumped with a sigh, his whole posture drooping in quiet disappointment.

He didn’t mean anything by it — but Gojo’s senses caught the subtle shift in his scent, a sour edge of frustration, and it sparked his inner alpha. A dash of concern, almost like guilt, flared in his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah-” he pulls itadori close, hugging the child “don’t you worry your pretty little head” if anyone else said it he’d feel demeaned, But it was Gojo , and he delivered the line with such ridiculous theatrical flourish that it was impossible not to smile.

“If I were any other alpha,” His teacher continued, gently bopping Itadori’s nose with a long, pale finger, “you’d be in big trouble. Luckily, I’m not!” He grinned. “I’m your oh-so-very-special teacher, and you know what that means!”

Before Itadori could answer, The man dramatically threw himself into a smothering cuddle, muffling the boy under an avalanche of limbs and blankets, drawing out a fresh burst of laughter.

“Unlike others i wont go absolute feral — yesterday was a fluke, i promise!” he added with extra pizzazz, the sparkle in his voice somewhere between whimsical nonsense and slapstick cartoon logic.

Itadori wheezed, trying to push free between his own laughter. “Hah—! Does… does that mean I can still go to the event?”

The Kyoto Goodwill Event — he was told about it after patchface had trans- killed Junpei. After him and Nanamin took him out together. An event where Fushiguro and Kugisaki would be- an event where he got to talk to more people than Nanamin and Gojo.

He can already see the framed image, frozen in glass

“You'll be fine, plans will continue as usual!” he claps his hands together. 

Before Itadori could fully relax, Gojo’s smile didn’t drop (because it never did, he's the strongest) but it tightened , just a little, at the edges. “if I’m not fully recovered by the time the event rolls around, you can’t join.” 

“Wha- why !?” that framed photo shreds along the glasses shatter marks

Gojo was still smiling, but now it held an edge of something more… serious. Measured, heavy in a way his usual demeanor never was. “Yuuji, Nanami came over yesterday, right?”

“Yeah… you don’t remember?”

“Everything’s a blur during rut,” the albino admitted. And that wasn’t scary at all. “I know he came by, though. His scent’s still hanging in the air — but that’s not the point.” Gojo's ‘forever goofy’ tone has cooled, is this big? “How much did he explain to you?”

Itadori sat up a bit, now more alert. “The basics… I think . We talked about dynamics functions and stuff.”

“The bare basics,” a groan slips from Gojo's lips. “Did he give you anything else?”

“He sent me a doc” for example Itadori pulls out his phone, scrolling to see a notification alerting him of a recently sent doc from a ‘Nanami Kento’. Gojo leaned over his shoulder to glance at the screen, scanning the title in silence before nodding, seemingly satisfied.

“That's good, I read something like that in scroll form when I was a kid. So. Much. Paper . It was annoying as hell-” Gojo swore! Is this also because of rut? How powerful is this thing! “-I tried to convince the elders to add pictures. Cute little animal doodles. But no one appreciated my blossoming artistic talent .”

“That’s so sad… I’’ll recognize you sensei!” Itadori feels a hype from Gojo’s sob story. 

but gojo returns the energy with a relaxed note landing somewhere between pride and peace. “Thanks, Yuuji. But for now, I need you to read that whole document while I order breakfast, okay?” The man stands up, full length over shadowing the bed.

“Got it!”

“Great, see you later~ !” gojo teleports away with a final goodbye wave

Itadori stared at the now-empty spot, blinking.

Wait… did he just leave in his pajamas?

A second realization hit him.

Why is he ordering breakfast? I can cook!

(old habits die hard)

On a scale of 1 to 10, how shitty is this situation?

Easily a six — if Gojo says so himself.

It had been a long time since his last full rut. Ten years, to be exact. The last one hit when he was sixteen, not long after Riko.

Back then, he forgot to take his suppressants. Thought maybe — just maybe — being him , being this walking divine anomaly, meant he was immune to mortal cycles. Immune to biology. Immune to this .

Somehow, that logic had made sense to teenage Gojo

. 

A few days later, he learned the hard way: obtaining godly attributes does not negate mortal qualms. You can be the strongest, and still be reduced to shaking bones and chemical instincts.

But even that rut wasn’t as bad as this one.

He could still speak back then. Still hold a conversation. Still pretend to be normal .

Yesterday felt like what he imagines blacking out drunk must feel like — something he’s never experienced. Not with Six Eyes filtering every drop of alcohol out of his system before it even touches his liver.

Today was better, that being said, he teleported face first into a wall. So precise…he was fine!

Not like walking was a struggle or anything — his feet wobbling like tall grass in wind, knees folding in and out like a newborn calf’s. His eyes blown wide, pupils like discs. Silk button sticking to his back, damp with sweat he barely registered. 

It’s fine.

Nobody’s staring at the 6’3 man in pajamas, wandering the streets like a feral creature that escaped its containment. Nobody’s about to call the cops.

He hadn't showered since… before yesterday. Maybe longer. He wasn’t keeping track. And he faintly gave off the scent of rain somehow. speaking of scent- it smelled intense, Everything that carried cursed energy reeked . Every person, every building, every breath of wind smelled like something. Normal people couldn’t detect it. But with Six Eyes wide open, Gojo could feel it all .

They swirled, mixed, curdled- gojo wanted to puke, he wanted to lean against a wall. Like being stuck inside a rotting trash heap. It hit his nose, his throat, his skull.

Why did he come

Why did he go

Why did he leave

His pup could be hurt

A dried hole threw the stomach

Skin frail and pail

Pinned to a metal table.

Strapped for dissection

Treated like an animal

Is that the sound of his own heart beat? Pulsing in his ears, breathing down his neck, pushing against his ribs.

The six eyes didn't help, every scrap of cursed energy sharpened, amplified to the breaking point. Light too bright, smells too strong, movement too much .

Where's his blindfold?

Where's his blindfold?

Where's his blindfold?

Breathe gojo

It’s fine

He will admit… this is troublesome.

He can’t go back to Jujutsu Tech like this. Can’t exorcise curses. Can’t teach. Hopefully Kugisaki and Megumi can manage alongside the second-years for now.

But when is ‘now’ over?

He can’t just wait out a full rut and waltz back in. That’s suspicious. Gojo Satoru doesn’t take extended leave — he doesn’t even take naps . He definetly can't tell the higher ups the whole truth or those animated bags of dust will think;

“You went off suppressants? DANGEROUS. TRAITOR. ELIMINATE HIM.”

“You went off suppressants? The Gojo clan leader is planning a child — this is a blessing!”

“You went off suppressants? You’re getting sloppy. Can the Strongest even be trusted anymore?”

That last one? 

Blasphemy

He can’t explain why he had one in the first place, it’s physically impossible to get a rut from an omega when he shouldn't be in contact with one. Putting yuuji is a no-go for now- might be for far longer than he planned.

In fact, maybe it’s the unhinged alpha in him but he’s scared — scared , him the strongest, the strongest is scared— to tell anyone. what if they hurt yuuji? he’s too weak to protect himself from the voice in his head, let alone jujutsu society!

He knew there were other omegas out there — at least four that the clans would publicly acknowledge. The statistics of zero birth aren’t the most accurate. 

The Zen’ins had two.

The Kamo clan, another two.

And the Gojo clan? None. Not once. Not ever. 

Gojo didn't grow up around omegas. Everyone was an alpha or beta, or at least pretended hard enough to pass. He met a single omega in his youth — once — when he had just turned eighteen, summoned for a bonding proposal from the kamo clan.

He turned it down, of course.

He remembered the silence in that meeting more than the person. The cold relentless air, The omega too polite to breathe too loudly, too scared to even meet his eyes. It felt wrong. Caged.

But now?

Now he had Yuuji.

And Yuuji wasn’t polite and soft-spoken. He wasn’t trained or shielded or prepared. He was open and earnest and strong and so terribly fragile in places he thought no one could see.

How was he supposed to protect someone like that?

How do they care for an omega? How should gojo care for his omega? 

Fuck  

He should’ve listened to his tutors more, even when they droned on, mummies in gold. He should’ve paid attention when Yaga muttered those little warnings, should’ve remembered all the quiet things that seemed irrelevant at the time. How was he supposed to know that he’d be the guardian of an omega one day?

The McDonalds he enters is cool, the air soothes his agitated skin. The wild instinct to bare teeth and snarl, faded the moment he pushed inside. Each step he takes is one layer up heavens gates

“Excuse me sir?”

“Huh?”

“Your order” The cashier gave him a stretched-thin smile, the kind worn by retail workers who’ve run out of patience but still need to keep their job. Gojo tells himself she's just doing her job and is not challenging his stance.

At first gojo's dreary eyes trail the breakfast menu, but it’s not really breakfast time anymore is it? Gojo woke at six am like everyday, but stayed in bed to let his pup sleep. In the end he chooses three big macs, a mountain of fries, two boxes of nuggets, and two large sprites — all for his pup. 

One look and he knew the pup was starving! He needed to eat and grow! Probably being tormented by Sukuna's gnawing presence, cannibalistic urges, and god-knows-what else going on inside his body. Sure he knew yuuji casually went through five energy drinks and several meals a day due to sukunas appetite as gojo is the one paying and providing.

But he’s just an omegan baby- and all his pups were to be spoiled, what else is his money for?

What did Gojo get?

Blue berry cheesecake frappe- he’ll survive, he’s an alpha.

Besides ~ he got some snacks at a convenience store, most of it was for Yuuji but it was fine.

Bags in hand, Gojo left with the casual strength of someone accustomed to hauling entire shopping centers behind him. The weight didn’t matter. His body had adjusted to absurd burdens long ago. His feet carried him automatically, instinct guiding him to an unpopulated space. Somewhere quiet, Empty.

An alleyway between two squat buildings caught his eye. It would do.

It's a dark deep corner between buildings, trash and rot piled up, and the stench of curse. Gojo could kill it without breaking stride. Snuff it out, leave the remains to rot with the garbage. Just another routine cleanup. End its life and move on… but it’s grade two or one and itadori thought he was so cool when he fought that speacial grade….

The kid lit up every time Gojo made a show of things — Infinity, red, blue, purple. He’s half way sure he could stand on one foot, call it a cursed technique, and Yuuji would fawn.

Gojo smirked, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he shifted the bags onto one arm.

It wouldn't hurt to show off.

Back at the house, Itadori squints at his phone screen, thumb hovering over the file Nanami sent earlier:

“A Beginner’s Guide to Sorcerer Dynamics.”

One and a half hours of reading later (why’s gojo taking so long?) Itadori can confirm the book is true to it’s word.

The book explains a lot of stuff- Half of it goes over his head — too much dense terminology and references to obscure jujutsu theory he’s only just started to understand. The other half is overloaded with clan names, which he keeps mixing up. The Zenin this, the Kamo that. Every other page seemed to mention at least one of them!

He had to reread some paragraphs three times just to grasp the basics .But what helped was how weird and animalistic all of it sounded, It stuck in his head because of how utterly not normal it was. Here’s his personal list of favorites:

— Sorcerers scent each other with sort of pheromones like animals (Itadori has no idea what he smells like and now he’s self-conscious. Does he smell like... gym socks? Strawberry shampoo? Knotweeds?)

—  They do this thing called ‘bonding’ or the creepy term ‘claiming’. itadori doesnt fully understand it but it’s similar to announcing a relationship- or marriage. But it can also sometimes be unofficial or platonic, an alpha might call themself a omegas ‘alpha’ (cringey, he knows) as to show they are under their protection or betas will to say their friends.

— building off claiming, they have pacts- Like wolves! everyday he understans more and more about fushiguro and his connection to the mammals. Pacts function exactly as you expect; containing a group of sorcerers, one prime alpha, one prime omega, and one prime beta (prime meaning leader). There’s a Prime Alpha, Prime Omega, and Prime Beta—prime meaning leader.

The Prime Alpha’s usually the strongest, the Prime Omega’s often their bondmate (ugh, that word again), while as the prime beta is the most respected beta.

Most clans fall under these conditions- even his Gojo-sensei’s, who's the prime alpha of his!

That's the traditional term but he learned it can be any close-knit group of sorcerers can technically form a pact.

Which means ( drumroll ) he could probably convince Nanamin, Kugisaki, Fushiguro, and Gojo to make one with him! It seemed like fun, something his gramps would approve

— Alphas are extremely over hyped throughout the entire doc, The way they describe alphas? Like gods, like they’re the best thing invented since sliced bread and jujutsu itself. Whoever wrote it is clearly a fanboy

— Apparently Gojo-sensei was doing something called denning earlier? If so, it's a bad and aggressive job.

The book says he’s supposed to encourage nest-building gently. Offer fabrics, support, comfort, maybe even help build it together., not throw blankets at him and expect him to understand!

Itadori could rant all day about how insane this world was, the dynamics, the bizarre rules. But what really clung to his thoughts, what refused to let go, was something Nanamin had said yesterday. 

Something quiet, careful, and buried in the margins of their conversation. And something that was becoming increasingly obvious through Gojo’s behavior.

Omegas are the bottom of society

The book didn’t say it like that. It eased him into the thought, portraying they were weaker and couldn't protect themselves. They said they were needy and couldn't provide themselves. They said they were childish and needed attention.

it was uncomfortable comparing the listed traits to his own

Itadori couldn't fight in the juvenile; he was weak

Itadori needed twice the amount of food for the average teen; he was needy

Itadori was overly energetic and optimistic, he hated being truly alone (feared the silence of a lone bedroom); he was childish

The book then solved the unknowingly (intentionally) created dilemma 

Q: how could an omega live?

A: with the help of their alpha.

It told him clearly — Omegas can’t exist on their own.

They’re gullible, They need direction. They need to be led by the hand and told who to be, What to be. They were at the bottom of the hierarchy.

The bottom of society for humans usually means poverty and lesser rights. He shouldn't have assumed human standards, they are akin to pets. Dolls you show to your friends, small creatures you coddle and locked in a cage.

“Dress them up, they're meant to be displayed.” a line ripped straight out of the book, “Rejection from an omega does not mean to stop — they have no idea what they desire” another

He swallowed thickly.

A pulse of nausea rolled through his stomach.

Did Gojo feel this way? Nanamin?

Is that why Gojo said he can’t leave?

Is he now some toy?

Does he have no right to be a person?

A fragile, mindless little creature in need of constant supervision?

Vessel or omega, Itadori is weak.

“Sukuna” no response

He tried again, quieter

“Nanamin said you're an alpha…” even the voices in his head ignore his pleas to understand. 

“Did you have an omega?”

A mouth on the other hand opposite to those lines, 

“Are you seeking affirmation from me, brat? Go beg your doting sensei if you want sweet little lies, this is all but pathetic.”

He sits there, biting his lip.

Omegas are dim, you must tell them what to think.

He read it again. 

And again.

And for a long moment, he sat frozen inside his mess of pillows and fabric, surrounded by warmth and still feeling utterly cold.