Chapter Text
1.
Gojo Satoru received news that his alpha had been injured while he was on his Maybach, on his way back from a mission in Southeast Asia.
After the Shibuya incident and the battle in Shinjuku finally settled into uneasy calm, curses no longer appeared as frequently as they once did. Partly because most of the cursed energy in the world had been drained and used for the Culling Game, partly because the balance of power had somewhat stabilized, especially after his Six Eyes were severely damaged in the fight against Sukuna, making new curses harder to manifest. Things were almost peaceful now; only the occasional high-level mission involving a rare special-grade curse required special-grade sorcerers like them to step in. So truly, Satoru was extremely surprised when Ijichi reported, “Gojo-san, your alpha was injured during a mission.”
At that moment he was sitting in the back of the car, one hand leisurely sipping a matcha latte his assistant had thoughtfully purchased, the other tapping on the Messenger icon, checking and rechecking because after a string of messages from Shoko, Yuuji, Nobara, and even Megumi, there was still no familiar “I love you” from his alpha. Even MEGUMI had texted him after this long mission, yet HIS ALPHA was nowhere to be seen.
To say Satoru was not pleased would be putting it mildly. At this point, he was extremely-annoyed about the glaringly empty chat window with his alpha for the past two days. So when Ijichi called and quickly informed him of his alpha’s situation, although worry burned in his chest, Satoru still could not stop a small thread of satisfaction from rising.
“Ah. So he had a reason.”
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2.
Okkotsu Yuuta’s reason was that he had been attacked by a curse during a mission.
The survey had indicated it was merely a Grade 2 curse, so Yuuta — still recovering from a previous mission — decided to go since most other sorcerers were occupied. What should have been an easy task suddenly escalated when the curse evolved into special grade in a dramatic plot twist; Yuuta, slightly careless and not yet fully recovered in cursed energy, was struck hard enough to see stars. Fortunately, Kirara, who happened to be on a nearby assignment, discovered the situation and immediately teleported him to safety. The area was temporarily sealed, pending a new survey before another special-grade would be dispatched to handle it.
That special-grade will obviously be Gojo Satoru, but that is a matter for later. Because at this very moment, the once-strongest human alive was simmering with fury as he listened to the urgent report from his assistant, both brows pressed tightly together in visible irritation. The Higher-Ups’ representative tasked with briefing him trembled so hard he barely dared to breathe, terrified of provoking this frightening omega boss. Everyone knew about the power of the Six Eyes, everyone knew the omega was so strong that secondary gender hardly limited him at all, but few realized that beneath that carefree smile, when this rich menace became angry, he was this difficult to appease. And right now, he was very angry, killing intent leaking from Infinity as if crushing every sorcerer in the room.
“You’re telling me my alpha was injured because of your idiotic information-gathering error?”
The man could only bow again, cold sweat sliding down his forehead. In situations like this, apologizing first was safest; at least the Six Eyes might spare those who repented.
“Is an apology supposed to fix it?” His bright blue eyes flashes with a trace of killing intent, the words forced out between clenched teeth. The representative could only bow lower, silently praying to every possible deity that Special-Grade Sorcerer Okkotsu Yuuta would wake up soon, preferably before his omega started twisting the heads off the entire jujutsu leadership.
It seemed the man had accumulated enough merit in this lifetime, because heaven chose to spare him: just as the Six Eyes raised a hand, fully prepared to massacre the jujutsu world, a weak cough sounded from the hospital bed. Gojo Satoru instantly withdrew his aura and hurried to the bedside. The lofty Honored One who seemed indifferent to everyone now gently took his alpha’s hand, pressing it to his own cheek, looking as sweet as a textbook omega.
A faint sweet-sour orange scent drifted into the air; although no one in the room except the alpha who had marked him could feel the biological soothing effect of his pheromones, everyone could see that Gojo Satoru, surprisingly enough, could be this gentle when comforting his alpha. The mentioned alpha remained in bed, holding his hand, eyes fixed intently on him. Then suddenly the alpha lunged forward, pulling him into his chest, arms tightening around him, face buried against his neck, nose brushing lightly over the gland hidden beneath the patch. The embrace softened Satoru’s anger; but before he could murmur more comforting words, his alpha abruptly bit into his neck.
The sudden contact made Satoru tilt his head back in surprise, allowing his alpha to grip his chin. Strong fingers tightened around pale skin, forcing Satoru to look directly into the darkened eyes before him. His alpha smirked, a shadowy, unmistakably out-of-character smile curling at his lips, and said in a cold, authorative tone,
“So what, seeing me in misfortune makes you very happy, doesn’t it?”
Those usually soft puppy-blue eyes deepened like ink, a flicker of light in the pupils making it all the more chilling.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t think I don’t know you’re still dreaming about that man!”
Hm. "DREAMING ABOUT THAT MAN”?! Who the hell is supposed to be that man??!! Staring at the wickedly charming and extremely out-of-character smile of his mate, Satoru suddenly wondered whether his alpha had knocked his head stupid.
OOPS.
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3.
“That special-grade curse was formed from the overthinking sympton of modern humans. It tends to drag its victims into imaginary scenarios that trigger their fears. But because its power is unstable, kindaly fluctuating between Grade 2 and special grade, the scenarios it creates are usually plotlines already present in the victim’s mind,” Shoko exhaled a stream of smoke and crossed her legs, looking at Satoru frowning across from her. “Yuuta-kun was struck in the head hard enough to disrupt his memory. I suspect he’s currently imagining himself as someone in a character or story he’s recently consumed. Satoru, do you know what he’s been reading lately?”
Reading? Satoru paused. Yuuta was much younger than him; although Satoru also enjoyed youthful, trendy entertainments and so on and so forth, when busy he mostly circled back to watching Digimon and playing games. Whenever they were together, he had often seen Yuuta focused on something on his phone, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning. When asked, Yuuta had simply replied that he was reading some light romance stories, so Satoru had not paid much attention.
“If we know what he’s reading, will that help him recover faster?” he asked while quickly rummaging through his alpha’s belongings for the phone. They rarely checked each other’s devices, but he still knew his alpha’s passcode, a basic requirement of trust.
And well, every single password Yuuta used was Satoru’s birthday, so it was not exactly difficult to guess.
“Yes, I think knowing will help us guide his memory more easily and help him regain clarity,” Shoko replied.
Satoru had already opened Yuuta’s Safari browsing history. His finger scrolled swiftly through pages. News. Game and Digimon figure shops to buy him gifts. Travel magazines to plan vacations for the two of them. Nothing suspicious yet.
Until his finger paused over a long cluster of tabs marked by a red-and-white logo, and Satoru had a sudden intuition that this was the correct choice. He tapped it quickly, letting the screen load.
Archive of Our Own. User “purelove0712.” Over 5000 bookmarked works.
His finger scrolled faster, eyes sweeping over the sections labeled “relationship” and “tags.”
One, two, three, four, five seconds - and Gojo Satoru, after six years of knowing his boyfriend and three years of officially being permanently marked mates, was horrified to realize that what his alpha, his former student, one of the only two existing special-grade sorcerers, a war hero already being written into textbooks, Okkotsu Yuuta - still read every night while lying beside him…
…was fanfiction about Satoru himself, about them, and about all of their friends in the jujutsu world.
Satoru’s eyes widened, causing Shoko to rush over and widen hers at the screen as well. The two of them simultaneously turned to look at the twenty-two-year-old alpha sitting in the corner of the room, staring back with a domineering and furious gaze, again very out of character. Before Shoko could burst into laughter, Satoru forced himself to speak first.
“Um, my alpha, um - you, ah no - you,” Satoru corrected himself, “What is your name?”
“Sukuna.”
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4.
“Kitten, do not anger me, you would not survive my wrath.”
Inside the traditional Japanese-style room, the threat rang out mixed with sweet, uneven breaths, enough to make anyone’s heart race and knees weaken. The black-haired man was currently pressing the “kitten” in his words down onto the bed, both hands pinning the wrists of the person beneath him to either side. He leaned down to lightly bite at a pale ear, making the person under him tremble uncontrollably. Noticing the kitten’s skin flushing a deep, embarrassed red, he let out a low chuckle.
“Spread your legs. Serve me obediently and I may spare your student.”
For the past two days, this had been how Satoru woke up at their private resort villa: summoned from sleep by his legally wedded mate acting out love-hate drama scripts with dialogue that was, frankly, a little too bold before breakfast. After giving her diagnosis, Shoko had suggested he temporarily take his alpha somewhere quiet to recover, and also to avoid unnecessary public panic; because yes, people did tend to panic when war hero Okkotsu suddenly walked around declaring himself the late genocidal maniac Sukuna. So Satoru followed her advice and brought Yuuta here.
The villa had been built three years ago, personally designed and supervised by Satoru as a birthday gift for his alpha. Since he had envisioned occasionally hosting friends, he had intentionally made it rather spacious, with quite a few staff members. Which led to an extremely awkward situation upon their arrival: Yuuta stepped out of the car first, then promptly swept him up bridal-style all the way to the bedroom, and while passing through the living room tossed out to the bowing staff, “From today onward, the Six Eyes will reside here as my caged canary. You are forbidden from looking directly at him,” in a tone so domineering it practically echoed. As he spoke, he lightly bit at the gland exposed to view, causing the omega in his arms to jolt.
Seeing the butler’s eyes nearly fall out of his head, Satoru had no choice but to steady himself, lifting his chin slightly from Yuuta’s tightening hold and giving the staff a subtle look that clearly said just listen to the alpha, while simultaneously burrowing back into Yuuta’s arms, both embarrassed and secretly delighted by this unprecedented VIP treatment.
It must be said that over three years together, Yuuta had been extremely strict about maintaining his image in front of others, even the staff were no exception. Back straight, manners impeccable, even displays of affection toward Satoru carefully restrained. Except for one single time during the final battle when Satoru was injured and Yuuta panicked, carrying him straight to Shoko and practically demanding she use reverse technique to heal him; otherwise, it was rare for his alpha to show excessive affection in public.
Yuuta had always been careful in every interaction: asking permission to hold hands, asking permission to kiss, even during their first time when Satoru had gone into heat and demanded to be filled immediately, the alpha had still asked several times before removing the protection patch from his gland. That was in private; in public, Yuuta would not even initiate overly intimate gestures. Aside from the faint smoky pheromone scent constantly wrapped around Satoru like territorial ink, there were no visible marks left behind: no hickeys, no finger bruises, not even a bite mark on the gland. Utahime often praised Yuuta as an exceptionally polite alpha, but Satoru sometimes found it slightly suspicious: if Yuuta were not enthusiastically intimate with him every single night, he might have thought he had somehow coerced the poor man into marriage.
So the first time he heard that deeply possessive tone, even if slightly out of place because he knew Yuuta currently believed himself to be Sukuna , “Spread your legs. Serve me obediently and I will spare your student,” Satoru could not suppress the rapid pounding of his own heart. He draped his arms languidly around the man looming over him, lightly biting his lip to draw that dark gaze down to his own mouth, then leaned closer to whisper into his ear. “And how does this esteemed alpha wish to be served?”
In his head, he had already prepared three hundred rounds of love-making; condoms were neatly placed by the bedside, lubricant deemed unnecessary because he was fairly certain he was about to go into heat anyway, and even a few toys gifted by Shoko, never yet tested, had been strategically stored in the drawer. And then, abruptly, the heavy body above him collapsed, dropping full weight onto him.
A faint snoring sound followed.
His alpha had fainted at some unknown point, leaving him alone with the lingering, restless frustration from the previous two days.
Fortunately, Shoko had warned him beforehand that the fainting was merely the brain’s self-protection mechanism when overstimulated, especially when the person in front of him failed to follow the script constructed by the curse in his mind. “Try to remember what you did at that moment; next time you can adjust to avoid overstimulating him.”
“Well, he said he wanted me to serve him, so I asked how he wanted to be served.”
“Ewwww,” Satoru could vividly imagine Shoko’s disgusted face on the other end of the line. “I do not need details about your sex life, Satoru. But, well, since he thinks he thinks himself as the King of Curses, maybe, just maybe, he is following some non-con script, so…”
“Non-con?” Satoru raised a brow even though she could not see him. “Like the I-love-you-you-don’t-love-me-but-I’ll-still-fuck-you-to-death-because-if-I-can’t-have-your-heart-I’ll-at-least-have-your-body type?”
Shoko seemed momentarily speechless. “If that is how you want to interpret it. But roughly speaking, you should try resisting according to the script and see how he reacts.”
Satoru hummed in acknowledgment, about to hang up after thanking his best friend, when her voice came through again. “I interviewed a few previous victims. It seems that while hallucinating, they blend certain real emotions and details into the script. Consider this an opportunity for the two of you to understand each other better.”
Those words kept circling in his head, but for today, the immediate priority was making sure his mate did not faint again. Quickly forcing tears into his eyes, letting them redden, letting his voice tremble, because really, acting was child’s play for the strongest , Satoru “weakly” pushed at the shoulder of the man above him.
“I will do as you say. But could we…,” he pretended to choke back a sob, biting his lip with feigned stubborn pride, “…could we wait until tonight? I’m not — not — ready.”
I am extremely ready, take me already, Yuuta!!! he screamed internally, while outwardly maintaining the fragile, rain-drenched flower image. And somehow, absurdly, the performance fit perfectly into whatever deranged script was running inside Yuuta’s head. His eyes flashed with the gleam of a beast scenting blood, and he bit down hard on the “helpless” omega in his arms.
The bite was strong, probably hard enough to draw blood, but it sent a sharp line of numb pleasure straight down Satoru’s spine to his tailbone. Very rarely, extraordinarily rarely, did Yuuta assert alpha dominance like this, aside from the first time they permanently marked each other. This possessive bite was… undeniably hot. Satoru licked his lips as the alpha continued his “coercion,” scattering kisses along his neck, over his collarbone, sliding lower over his abdomen. He could not help a few soft moans slipping from his throat, which only seemed to spur the alpha into fiercer attack. Kisses trailed to his lower stomach, to his ankle, to his inner thigh, before the alpha returned to press him into the mattress with a forceful kiss.
Their lips tangled roughly. Out of habit, Satoru flicked his tongue teasingly against the alpha’s, only to have Yuuta grab his sensitive gland, forcing his jaw open as a thin line of saliva slipped down his pretty pink lips. Taking advantage of the omega’s dazed tremble, Yuuta surged forward, tongue invading in a one-sided conquest. The relentless assault left Satoru unable to regain control, left him exposed as though surrendering entirely to whatever the alpha wished to do.
And Yuuta very much wished to do it.
After kissing the omega beneath him until his head spun, skin flushed, beautiful eyes wet though lips remained stubbornly pressed tight, his lower body throbbed painfully with need. Reaching down, he found the omega already soaked and wickedly lifted his slick fingers before Satoru’s face. “Your mouth resists, but your body is so honest.”
My mouth wasn’t resisting either, Satoru wanted to argue, but his reddened ears betrayed him. A man in his thirties like himself, married for three years, yet most of his intimacy with Yuuta had always been gentle: the alpha asking softly, entering softly, caring for him softly. This teasing cruelty was rare, and it stirred something restless and hot inside Satoru.
“Are you thinking about that man again?” His chin was suddenly gripped tight, and he found furious blue pupils staring into him. In whatever script Yuuta was acting out, apparently Satoru was in love with someone else, given how often “that man” kept coming up. Ưhen Satoru failed to responsed, apparently to Curse King Yuuta, silence equaled confession. And confession equaled anger. The alpha squeezed his chin again, forecefully pushing two slick fingers into Satoru’s mouth, stirring against his tongue.
“If you bite, I’ll kill your student.” Again with the student, whoever wrote this fanfic certainly had imagination. The fingers pushed deeper, withdrew, pushed again, mimicking the sexual rhythm that made Satoru’s eyes water for real this time.
Seeing the once-lofty Six Eyes, revered like a god, now panting and trembling in his arms, Curse King Okkotsu could no longer hold back. He withdrew his fingers only to press them inside him, stretching him open, releasing pheromones thick with command, coaxing the omega within Satoru to yield and adjust, to welcome the alpha’s seed. When it seemed that the omega was moaning hard enough, Yuuta pulled his finders out and drove himself fully in with one decisive thrust, exhaling in long satisfaction as the strongest sorcerer in the world tightened around him.
The full force of that single thrust made Satoru cry out for real. Three years of gentleness had softened him; this roughness dragged his omega instincts to the surface, overwhelming him to the point of tears. The stretch was intense, as heaven had been generous in the matter of his husband’s size, but the fullness, the powerful thrust striking sensitive spots inside him, made his vision blur as he clutched at the alpha’s shoulders. He sobbed, pleading as the pace became nearly inhuman.
“Mm — slow down — just a little —”
“Beg me. Beg me to stop.” The voice was cruel, playful, as though he held absolute authority over this beautiful toy in his arms.
At that point Satoru snapped. Eyes still red, he smacked at the broad shoulder moving above him. “Do you seriously think we should stop now?!”
“…”
The newly appointed Curse King Okkotsu Yuuta felt a flicker of confusion. Where was the stubborn resistance? The desperate refusal? The humiliated submission? Why did the Six Eyes before him look like he was enjoying himself to the point of levitating?
But that thought was swiftly discarded when the man beneath him whimpered sweetly, “You’re too big, you’re filling me too much.”
This Six Eyes temptress, he swored would ruin him.
The next morning, after being thoroughly fed the night before, Satoru lounged against his self-proclaimed Curse King Okkotsu, looking outwardly resigned while inwardly deliriously pleased, basking lazily in the sun.
Nearly three years with a perfectly well-behaved Yuuta had made their sex life steady but not particularly adventurous. This sudden stylistic shift courtesy of mild brain trauma had made things both satisfying and thrilling. Even though his body ached from last night’s rough treatment, Satoru leaned contentedly into his alpha, letting him stroke slow circles along his back.
Feeling soft hair brushing against his neck, Okkotsu-sama narrowed his eyes slightly at the beautiful white cat in his arms. The cat neither hurt nor afraid, merely lifted clear blue eyes to meet his gaze, startling the newly crowned Curse King into a brief, awkward hesitation. He looked away, and inadvertently paused at the sight of Satoru’s neck, now littered with bright red marks, some darkening purple, especially the deep bite at the exposed gland. Unable to resist, Yuuta bent down and licked gently, as if afraid of hurting his kitten, as if he had not been the one tormenting him the night before. His kitten obediently tilted his neck, trembling lightly under each nibble. After a while, Yuuta reluctantly let go.
“If you continue being obedient, I will allow you to see your student.”
The outrageously domineering, wildly OOC line hit Satoru like a bucket of cold water. The lingering romance evaporated, dripping uselessly to the floor, and he straightened up, suddenly remembering Shoko’s advice about uncovering the story inside Yuuta’s head. This time, he would kill two birds with one stone, find out what else his alpha was secretly harboring in that brain besides yesterday’s barely disguised non-con kink.
Acting on impulse, he leaned forward, layering his voice with two parts wounded grievance, three parts coerced helplessness, and five parts tragic resignation, posing as a chaste young man wronged by fate as he demanded, “Why are you treating me like this?”
The anguish he performed was so convincing that the New King of Curses actually began to look a little flustered. Out of habit, he rubbed his hands against his kimono, then seemed to realize that looked profoundly uncool; immediately, he caught Satoru by the chin instead, forcing him to tilt his head up and meet his gaze, declaring with equal parts sincerity and tyrannical intensity, “How many times have I told you, and you still don’t believe me? I truly like you!”
“But why do you even like me?”
And just like that, Yuuta answered honestly. “I’ve liked you for a very long time. From the first time you saved me in that sealed room of the Higher-Ups, I knew that in this life, I had to stay by your side.”
His answer made Satoru falter for half a second. He wasn’t sure whether the author even knew where he had first met Sukuna to write it into the fanfic, but being saved at their first meeting in front of the Higher-Ups - that had unmistakably been when he met Yuuta. Perhaps his alpha was mixing fragments of real life into fiction. “You could consider this a chance for the two of you to understand each other better,” Shoko’s voice echoed faintly through his memories.
“So Your Majesty likes my face, is that it? Shall I ruin it now so you’ll finally let me go?” Sniffling (fake), while pretending to smash a teacup to grab a shard and disfigure himself (also fake), Satoru privately decided he deserved an Oscar for Best Performance as the coerced little wife. His acting was so good that Okkotsu Yuuta, the self-appointed blood-thirsty King of Curses, panicked and seized both his wrists in one hand, while the other pressed Satoru’s face against his neck. The alpha pheromones, smoky and soothing, unfurled gently in the air, yet his grip remained tight with unmistakable possession.
God help him, Satoru loved this feeling.
Especially when Yuuta hurried to explain himself, as though he’d just been accused of something truly unforgivable.
“I don’t only like your face. You’re beautiful - I swear, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my life. But I love your personality more than anything.” Not even waiting for Satoru to press further, he continued, “When you smile while teasing Panda, when you’re furious at the Higher-Ups, when you’re bloodthirsty and destroy the curse that monk sent, every version of you shines like a small sun that leaves me utterly enchanted.”
After every phrase, a kiss landed softly in his hair. Perhaps the sun was a little too warm, because Satoru's neck and ears flushed red, and his heart melted into something embarrassingly pliant.
“And when you cried after having to kill him, I swore I would bear all the suffering in this world for you.”
“I did not cry!” Satoru protested. He had thought he hid it perfectly; had Yuuta really noticed back then? Everything had happened too quickly; he hadn’t expected Suguru to strike so soon, and with a killing blow meant to massacre non-sorcerers. The moment he heard Suguru had been defeated by Yuuta, he rushed there immediately. The Six Eyes had always been fast, but his heart had not been ready. He never imagined that fleeting lapse would be seen by a sixteen-year-old Yuuta. Why had his alpha never mentioned it in the six years since?
“Mm, you didn’t cry.” Another kiss fell into his hair; the New King of Curses was strangely gentle, not even angry to revisit the subject. The calming scent of his alpha pheromones lingered around Satoru’s nose, soft as a quilt draped comfortably over his shoulders. “Whether you cried or not, the vow I made, to bear all the suffering of this world for you, remains unchanged.”
Satoru’s heart seemed to skip a beat before slamming back fiercely against his ribs. Yuuta had said this once before, during their public wedding ceremony within the Jujutsu world. The rituals had been complicated, the obligatory greetings afterward tedious and politically soothing for the sorcerer community, making Satoru assume the vow was simply part of a pre-written wedding script.
But here and now, staring into those deep blue eyes, so gentle they seemed intent on offering him every beautiful thing in existence, Satoru suddenly realized that perhaps Yuuta had truly written those words with care. A promise. A wish. A sincere desire to shield him from every sorrow this world could devise. It didn’t matter whether the person Yuuta loved was the strongest sorcerer alive, an independent omega who needed no one in the public eye; Yuuta simply wanted to love him, wanted to selfishly remain by his side, to brush away all the weariness the world had laid upon him.
Satoru suddenly remembered: many people had stood behind him, a few had wanted to stand beside him, but only one had ever wished to stand in front of him and take everything head-on. Except for Yuuta Okkotsu, his former student, special-grade sorcerer, now his alpha. Who would have thought that a prodigy of jujutsu would turn out to be such a sincere fool, determined to act as a shield for a weapon of mass destruction?
Overwhelmed by a rush of affection, Satoru felt his eyes grow warm; he burrowed deeper into his alpha’s embrace, inhaling the pheromones reserved exclusively for him.
“Thank you, Yuuta.”
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5.
“Would Your Majesty care to rest and have some dessert before continuing training?”
It was already afternoon. Satoru stretched lazily from the soft resting mat beneath the tree canopy and called out to the New King of Curses, who was practicing katana, then gestured toward the assortment of sweets just delivered for afternoon tea. Satoru had no idea which fanfic author decided that the King of Curses favored a katana, or perhaps it was simply Yuuta’s own ingrained habit written into this script. In reality, Yuuta was always like this, diligently drilling hand-to-hand combat two or three hours a day, then burying himself in ancient sword manuals scavenged from the Gojo clan library for another two or three hours of research. The few times Satoru peeked at what he was reading, it was always dusty treatises on refining cursed energy control. His alpha even volunteered for missions in China, where curses were far more volatile and dangerous due to the dense population, just to temper his combat skills. Never resting, always pushing to become stronger, that was his alpha.
“Why do you insist on getting stronger like this? You’re already strong enough.”
He asked it just as Yuuta’s long fingers lifted a piece of kikifuku to his lips, waiting for him to taste it. Some King of Curses, he was still an adorable puppy underneath. Yuuta's actions were gentle, yet his mouth stubbornly projected a booming, imperial tone.
“This does not concern you. Just behave and remember your place as the pet I keep here.”
The voice carried unmistakable emperor-level arrogance, yet the slight flicker in his eyes was unmistakably Yuuta trying and failing to hide something. Oh? In that case, Satoru absolutely had to pry that reason out of him, curiosity poked the beautiful white kitten, and a mission was immediately drafted in his mind.
Unfortunately, that mission was promptly tossed aside when the puppy, currently cosplaying as a wolf, latched onto the kitten's neck, dragged him back into the den, and began licking and feeding him until the white kitten narrowed his eyes in blissful fullness. From sweets to dinner to a few things not fit for polite narration, until the kitten could only hum in satisfied exhaustion and fall asleep.
The next morning, while said kittenwas still deeply asleep in a warm embrace, the phone rang sharply. Satoru never set alarms, except for a handful of trusted assistants authorized to report emergencies. Pushing away the muscular arm draped across his bare waist, mottled with bruises and bite marks, Satoru rubbed the still-aching gland at his neck where his alpha had marked him repeatedly during last night’s madness, and answered the call groggily.
His drowsiness vanished within thirty seconds.
He leapt out of bed, activated reversed cursed technique to erase the lingering soreness, and quietly slipped toward the door. But after a few steps, imagining Yuuta waking up furious because his captive little wife had vanished, then possibly overexerting himself again in recovery, Satoru sighed and returned to shake Okkotsu, newly-appointed King of Curses, awake.
“Come out with me for a bit.”
“My little kitten is begging me? If you obediently spread your legs and serve me, I might consider--” The indecent line flowed far too smoothly from his alpha’s mouth, making Satoru curl his toes in mortified embarrassment.
He cut him off impatiently. “Yes, I’m begging you. I served you yesterday. Today you have to fulfill your promise and take me to see my .”
The overly blunt little wife left Okkotsu-sama staring blankly for a moment before dragged into a mission vehicle headed straight for Kyoto.
When they arrived, Yuuji was waiting at the shrine entrance. Five years after the war had stretched him taller, his muscles clearly defined beneath his instructor uniform. The scar slashing across his face lent him a certain severity when silent, but when he broke into a wide grin like now, the youthful brightness returned. The sight of him loosened something in Satoru’s chest, and he hurried over, smacking Yuuji on the shoulder. “You disappear on missions for a whole year and think your teacher won’t worry, huh, Yuuji?”
The alpha scratched his head shyly, as though the one-meter-ninety-three giant towering over Satoru now was still fifteen. Satoru reached to ruffle his hair out of habit, only for a hand to shoot out and seize his wrist, yanking him back.
“Kitten, who allowed you to flirt with another alpha in front of me?” Yuuta cinched an arm around his waist, pheromones spilling out like suffocating smoke after a blaze; clearly, his alpha was very displeased. He tilted his chin toward Yuuji. “Brat, I warn you not to touch what’s mine.”
Yuuji’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Satoru felt an immediate headache brewing: roleplay was one thing behind closed doors, but letting innocent students overhear it? Even he, shameless as he was, wanted to evaporate on the spot. He quickly winked at Yuuji to keep quiet, only for his chin to be seized and tilted upward, Yuuta’s domineering gaze casting down at him.
“Have I spoiled you too much?! Daring to exchange glances with him?!”
(Satoru swore that if Sukuna knew in the afterlife, he would claw his way out of the grave to beat both this melodramatic fanfic author and his alpha for slander.)
Fortunately enough, when Satoru was scrambling for a way to keep the Imaginary King of Curses from drawing a katana and dueling Yuuji’s Black Flash, Shoko’s voice rang out.
“Satoru, we found traces of the Prison Realm over here.”
At the mention of the Prison Realm, the thing that had once sealed his kitten and driven him half-mad with fear, King Okkotsu’s jealousy visibly deflated. He immediately dragged Satoru toward Shoko, though not without shooting Yuuji one final murderous glare.
Leaving behind a pink-haired boy who had done absolutely nothing yet somehow caught stray bullets, internally sobbing, “Why does Okkotsu-senpai suddenly hate me? Back then I only suggested marking Sensei because he was sick, senpai knew I didn’t mean anything by it! Hmu hmu!” before scrambling after the survey team.
They got to know the bad news that tore the Six Eyes from his alpha spouse’s warm embrace that sated morning: the survey team had discovered cursed energy traces similar to the Prison Realm in Kyoto. Even knowing Kenjaku was dead and no one could use that cursed object to harm Gojo Satoru again, the mere name was enough to make any sorcerer who survived Shibuya and the Culling Game turn pale. Anyone with common sense knew that anything resembling that risk should be destroyed immediately.
For those close to Satoru and aware of the battle’s aftermath, the anxiety ran even deeper: After his fight with Sukuna, the slash cleaving through his torso had shattered his cursed energy core. Though Yuuta and Shoko’s desperate healing efforts made him appear miraculously unharmed to the public, and though his cursed energy eventually returned after recovery, his fine control was never the same. Infinity and the Six Eyes remained, but without sustained reversed technique, both his defense and offensive output had dropped significantly. That was why he limited teleportation, and why he no longer accepted solo missions. His technique and physicality still placed him at Special Grade, but the title “Humanity’s Impenetrable Shield” no longer fit.
The most worried of all was likely Yuuta. Even before they officially became partners, two years after the war, when the second-years returned to campus, Yuuta would invent excuses to spar, secretly threading cursed energy through him to check his condition without making him uncomfortable. Satoru had known all along, since the Six Eyes, even damaged, were still the Six Eyes, but he pretended not to notice to ease his student’s mind. Later, after they bonded properly, his alpha would use reversed technique every night to scan him from head to toe.
Now, that same alpha listened intently as a Higher-Up representative summarized the situation, occasionally offering sharp observations. Thankfully, Lord Okkotsu had suffered memory trauma, not brain damage. Satoru thought to himself.
Meanwhile, Satoru wandered bored through the underground shrine architecture, releasing cursed energy to check for any other valuable cursed tools. The Six Eyes constructed a 3D overlay in his mind with bright points marking cursed energy. Aside from the glaring fragment of the Prison Realm under examination in the lower right, there was another bright concentration in the upper left. Satoru narrowed his pretty eyes, focusing.
The shape resolved into a sphere containing liquid.
What liquid? He zoomed in further, mentally sorting possibilities. Liquids were limited. Holy river water was typically used for control sorcerers; corpse-soaking fluids for curse-attracting rituals; human blood, often manipulated like the Kamo clan’s Blood Manipulation, could serve as an explosive—
Before Satoru could finish analyzing what type of explosive or how to instruct his assistant to handle it, a pink dot, representing a sorcerer on his mental map,impulsively lashed out, smashing the wall containing the spherical cursed object—
Everything afterward unfolded in an instant.
Before Satoru could intercept, the technique struck.
The outer shell, human skull, by the look of it, shattered immediately.
Blood burst outward, atomizing and accelerating violently in all directions, destabilizing the shrine’s structure.
The attacking sorcerer was blasted three meters back, spine slamming into stone, unconscious.
The tremor shook the underground chamber; debris cascaded down. The explosion triggered hidden defensive mechanisms, launching cursed weapons and activating embedded curses against everyone inside.
It sounded long, but it happened in less than a fraction of a second. Just as Satoru lunged to grab the sorcerers near the blast radius and throw them clear, an arm wrapped around him. A powerful surge of cursed energy flared like an invisible fortress wall; his Infinity had barely activated before another force enveloped it completely, sealing him within. The familiar scent of pheromones hit Satoru, the smoky burn once lingering after attacks now spiraled into a protective dome.
A Grade 1 cursed arrow whistled past the space they had just vacated, embedding in shattered stone. Killing intent sliced through the air, leaving cold wind at his nape.
“Are you hurt?” Yuuta’s voice was hoarse, urgent to the brink of breaking.
He erected another layer of cursed energy, back outward, arms tight around Satoru. His eyes scanned every inch of skin, every strand of hair, every drop of blood, any of it enough to seize his heart. The calm composure Yuuta usually wore, the tyrannical King of Curses persona he’d been playing since memory damame, all gone. Before Satoru, he was only a panicked alpha.
That feeling made Satoru strangely… shy.
It had been a long time since anyone asked about his injuries on a battlefield. Since long before Yuuta was tall enough to reach his shoulder. To be treated like a fragile omega, shielded, worried over until the other’s hands trembled, it left him awkward, unsure how to respond.
He could only grasp his alpha’s wrist gently and squeeze. His lips formed the words: I’m fine.
Only then did Yuuta ease slightly, pulling him closer until their foreheads briefly touched.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Yuuta spotted another cursed bomb spiraling midair in a wicked arc, clearly part of a chained trap, hurtling straight toward the omega in his arms.
A fraction of a second.
Just one.
Yuuta forgot the two hundred countermeasures at his disposal. Forgot strategies carved into bone. His mind emptied, leaving only one thought: Satoru must not be hurt.
Instinct outpaced intellect. He tightened his hold, dragged Satoru flush against his chest, twisted his body, and took the blow squarely across his back.
The explosion was not loud, but the impact warped the air. The metallic scent of blood flooded Satoru’s nose, thick within the acrid smoke. His eyes went wide. He saw Yuuta stagger, saw the body that had somehow grown to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him tremble once, just once, yet the arms around him only tightened.
Before consciousness slipped, he heard his alpha whisper:
“It’s alright now, Satoru. I’m here.”
.
6.
Luckily, everything was resolved quickly afterward. By the time Satoru teleported Yuuta and Shoko back to the infirmary, the socerers appointed by the Higher-Ups had already contained the situation. Shoko immediately began treatment, then ran Yuuta through several modern scans and tests to confirm his brain hadn’t suffered any additional damage.
“He’s fine now,” she finally concluded after an hour that felt far longer to Satoru.
He let out a long breath: when his foolish alpha of a spouse had thrown himself in front of that attack without even using Rika to mitigate the damage, Satoru had genuinely thought the boy had finally rattled his brain loose for good. Caught between worry and irritation at said foolish alpha, his pheromones leaked out unconsciously. Shoko had to pat his back lightly to calm him, explaining that perhaps the King-of-Curses script simply didn’t allow him to go OOC and use Rika. Only then did Satoru manage to settle down. He dropped into the chair beside the bed, gently smoothing the tense line between his alpha’s brows. Even unconscious, Yuuta stirred, instinctively grabbing his wrist and holding tight. It reminded Satoru of an hour ago, how even while fainting, Yuuta’s body had still curled protectively around him. That made Satoru’s heart soften; he intertwined their fingers, silently sending reassurance to the man even in sleep.
He didn’t know when he drifted off.
When Satoru woke up, it was early morning. He was lying on the hospital bed, and his alpha was nowhere to be found. Panic flickered briefly, but the Six Eyes quickly detected lingering cursed energy and that familiar smoky pheromone still within campus grounds. Following the trail, he ended up at the physical training hall. Pushing the door open, Satoru found his alpha repeatedly channeling cursed energy into a katana, obsessively refining control down to finer and finer threads.
“You just woke up and already vanished? Do you know how worried I was?”
The accusation made the self-proclaimed King of Curses visibly flustered, though his mouth remained stubborn. “What I do is my business. Who gave you permission to control me?!”
“But I was really worried,” Satoru softened his tone; and, predictably, Lord Okkotsu immediately crumbled. He rushed forward to hug him, mumbling, “Mm—don’t worry… I’m sorry.”
Later, settled in the lounge, Satoru was firmly insisted upon sitting on Okkotsu’s lap, breakfast from their private villa laid out in front of them, while enduring the assessing stares of Shoko, Ijichi, Maki, and a rotating cast of acquaintances dropping by. Feeding his alpha a bite of rolled omelet, Satoru asked again the question that had been circling his mind for days.
“Why are you so obsessed with becoming stronger, Yuuta?”
The same evasive glance as before. The puppy in wolf’s fur clearly plotted to distract the kitten with a strategic neck bite so the question would be forgotten. Not this time. When sharp teeth neared his gland, Satoru pushed him back, cupping his lover’s face and forcing eye contact.
“Answer me, Okkotsu-sama.”
The kitten and the wolf locked gazes in a silent duel. After a few seconds, the wolf melted back into a guilty puppy. Yuuta lowered his eyes, the dramatic King-of-Curses swagger evaporating, lips pressing together before he muttered:
“Because I want to be stronger than you.”
Even though Satoru had suspected as much from Yuuta’s overprotective tendencies, the answer still startled him. He knew being far stronger than most omegas, and nearly every alpha alive, might unsettle a partner. But he hadn’t realized Yuuta carried it so deeply it bled into hallucinated scripts. A pang tugged at him. He hadn’t known his alpha felt inadequate, nor had Yuuta ever voiced it. Still, first things first, comfort the sick spouse.
“You don’t have to do that. No matter what, I’m still your omega. You don’t need to use that as a way to mark territo—”
“It’s not marking territory! I truly don’t want to own you!”
The alpha lifted both hands to clasp the hands he had been holding against his cheeks. Firm, and yet careful. Then, as if suddenly realizing that strength could hurt him, could be mistaken for coercion, the alpha hurriedly let go, fumbling as he touched his cheek again, feather-light.
“I just…”
A stretch of silence followed, dark blue eyes searching for his. The rims of the alpha’s eyes were still faintly red, like a large, wounded puppy, and it made Satoru’s heart soften embarrassingly fast; he gently nuzzled his cheek into the hand that had reached for him, half coaxing, half reassuring. The alpha gathered his courage then, drew in a deep breath, and confessed.
“I’m afraid I’m not worthy of you.”
Sunlight filtered through the thin white curtains, leaving pale streaks across the face of the man standing before Satoru. He had grown taller by so much, his cursed energy immeasurably stronger; yet for a fleeting second beneath that soft wash of light, Satoru saw again the shy sixteen-year-old boy from the first day they met. The boy with unruly hair, shoulders always slightly hunched, painfully awkward when speaking to others. The boy who had only dared to whisper, in a voice barely above breath, that he feared he was unworthy of the power he had been given. Six years had passed, storms weathered, until he became Okkotsu-sama of the jujutsu world, yet that same boy stepped forward once more, fragile as ever, and admitted to him, “I’m afraid I’m not worthy of Satoru.”
But why? Satoru heard himself ask, an ache swelling in his chest as the shadow of that sixteen-year-old overlapped with the indomitable alpha standing before him now. He released a faint trace of pheromones, hoping the sweetness would calm the alpha even a little, and tilted his neck deliberately to the side, leaving his gland bare and uncovered, an unspoken reassurance that he was still here, still his.
Only Okkotsu Yuuta’s.
“Only the strongest deserves Satoru,” the alpha whispered, as though he could not quite face himself, or the confession he had buried for three long years - the one that drove him, night after night, to search in a daze for the omega beside him, to check whether he was truly there, whether he still belonged to him. “So I have to keep getting stronger, so that I can give myself permission to stay by your side.”
And so Okkotsu Yuuta trained relentlessly, day and night, throwing himself into life-and-death battles without hesitation, all in the hope that he could continue to grow stronger, so that he could grant himself permission to remain beside Gojo Satoru.
His god had, by chance, chosen him as a place to rest; but nothing guaranteed that a god would stay forever. So Okkotsu Yuuta had to become powerful like Him, to run fast enough to catch up, to beg Him to remain - lest one day He realize that this alpha was not something capable of bringing Him joy.
So Okkotsu Yuuta only dared to remain quietly at His side, becoming the alpha He needed, gently accompanying Him through the mortal world.
So Okkotsu Yuuta suppressed his desires, his possessiveness, his jealousy. Suppressed the urge, again and again, to mark Him and declare to the world that the Honored One was his, that the omega had chosen him.
So Okkotsu Yuuta loved within boundaries, made love within boundaries, even his possessiveness restrained within the precise boundary of a standard layer of smoke-scented pheromones surrounding Satoru, neither too much nor too little.
Because he was afraid. Afraid that his excessive longing would displease his God. Afraid that uncontrolled desire would weary Him. Afraid that his love would bore Him enough to make Him leave.
The alpha confessed for a long time, as if emptying out his entire heart, his insecurities, his doubts, his uncertainties, laying them bare before the one he loved, begging for even a sliver of mercy. His dark blue eyes remained lowered, avoiding Satoru’s gaze, and so he did not see the omega in his arms silently shedding tears. Only when his hand brushed against a tear trailing down did Yuuta look up in alarm, clumsily wiping the wetness from his cheek.
“Satoru, don’t cry. I’m sorry - please don’t cry.”
…
Satoru shook his head, flicking the tears from his cheeks as if they had no business being there in the first place. This foolish puppy of his had managed to move him again. Six years of knowing each other, three years as bonded partners, and somehow his silly student, who had already grown into all that height and power, still clung to the habit of bottling up grievances inside. How could he possibly think he wasn’t worthy of Satoru? Then who was it that killed Kenjaku? Who single-handedly stabilized the jujutsu world after the war? Who was preparing to run for upper leadership to reform the system? And who was it that Satoru himself had chosen to submit to, baring his heat-swollen gland to lure into marking?
Both tender and irritated at the ridiculous partner before him, Satoru drew in a deep breath to stop crying, pondered for a moment, and then, kitten thoroughly annoyed, smacked his mangosteen paw down on the head of the big bad wolf who had just revealed himself to be an oversized idiot puppy.
“I’m not crying! And Yuuta is not allowed to overthink anymore! How can you be this stupid…?” The mangosteen paw remained buried in black hair, grinding in irritation as it ruffled everything into chaos.
That smack seemed to reboot whatever self-appointed Curse King script had been running inside Yuuta’s head. He discarded the pitiful look from moments ago, swiftly slipping back into wolf mode, catching Satoru’s hand and bringing it to his lips to lick.
“This little naughty kitten, who gave you permission to be this naughty with me, hm?!”
Satoru nearly rolled his beautiful blue eyes out of their sockets, because damn these scripts, yet he leaned closer anyway, blowing warm air against Okkotsu-sama’s ear. Pink lips teased the alpha’s earlobe, and his words were pure provocation. “I’m just like this. How does Okkotsu-sama intend to punish me then?”
The challenge irritated the self-crowned Curse King. He hoisted Satoru up, imitating his teleportation technique to shift them straight back to their villa. The moment they arrived, the alpha tossed his delicate little wife onto the bed, catching the ankle that kicked up at him and licking lightly at the elegant curve, making the kitten in his arms arch his back in a way that was both innocent and anything but. And yet the cat still had the audacity to taunt him. “My gland feels so itchy. Could I trouble Okkotsu-sama to lick it for me?”
With the omega’s permission secured, the young alpha lunged forward, commencing the important educational lesson of disciplining the love of his life.
Laughter rang out, threaded with sweet, breathy moans, and Satoru conveniently wrapped his arms around Yuuta’s shoulders.
If it was his fault for letting his partner feel so insecure, shouldn’t he at least offer his body as reassurance, and teach his alpha how to love him without fear?
Day blurred into night. The wolf devoured the kitten until the wolf himself was no longer hungry (reversed cursed technique had its uses), and the kitten was fed until thoroughly satisfied. They made love with each other for more than twelve hours; Satoru had started out provoking, and ended up tearfully begging for mercy that never quite arrived. Eventually they fell asleep in each other’s arms, after the self-proclaimed Curse King had carefully washed him clean.
Before drifting off, Satoru thought to himself, When will Yuuta wake up? I need to tell him that I love him - and that I love the way he wants to possess me, too.
…
A dreamless night passed.
The next morning, Satoru woke drowsily and burrowed into the warm chest of the alpha before him, voice lazy and spoiled. “Has His Majesty the Curse King awakened? Let me hug you a little longer.”
The hug he expected never came. Instead, he was yanked into a domineering kiss, bitten hard enough to split his lip. A strong hand seized his throat, pulling his now fully awake face up to meet an outrageously roguish expression, Satoru had not known until this moment that Yuuta could look this delinquent, smirking down at him.
“You’re pregnant with my child and you dare mention some Curse King’s name here?”
Hm. Another role switch? Satoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes and managed to croak out, throat still caught in that grip, “And who are you?”
“Hmph, still pretending you don’t know me? Remember this well: I’m the man who put that belly on you,” the shameless grin deepened. “I am Fushiguro Toji.”
Well, that was it. Just how many unhinged fanfics had this menace of an alpha, Okkotsu Yuuta, been reading exactly?!!!!
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To be continue.