Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet in a way that pressed on Toge’s skin like static. He’d left the window cracked open an hour ago, hoping the cool night air from the side streets of Shinjuku would help, but all it brought was the distant rumble of trains and the faint, bitter edge of exhaust that did nothing to soothe the low burn crawling through his veins. Dry heat. The worst kind. No slick, no real relief, just this restless fever that made his clothes feel like sandpaper and every breath too shallow.
He curled tighter on the couch, knees drawn up, one of Yuta’s old Jujutsu High uniforms clutched against his chest. The fabric had lost most of its scent weeks ago, but Toge kept pressing his face into the collar anyway, chasing the ghost of ozone and rain-soaked earth. It wasn’t enough. Hadn’t been enough for days. The mission had dragged on longer than promised—some high-stakes exorcism overseas that even Yuta couldn’t talk about in detail before he left. Toge had nodded then, thumb brushing Yuta’s wrist in their usual silent goodbye. Salmon. Go. Come back safe.
Now the silence mocked him.
He’d tried to keep busy. Cleaning the kitchen until the counters gleamed, folding laundry with mechanical precision, even attempting to read one of the old curse theory books Yuta left behind. Nothing stuck. His body kept pulling him back to the bedroom, to the half-hearted pile of clothes and blankets he’d dragged together in the corner. A nest, technically. A pathetic one. Nothing like the proper dens Omegas were supposed to build when their Alpha was away. Just Yuta’s spare uniform jackets, the black hoodie he’d worn the day he left, and a single pillow that still carried the faintest trace of his scent. Toge had buried himself in it for hours yesterday, shaking through another wave that left him exhausted and hollow.
Tonight the fever sat heavier. His skin prickled. The bond mark on the side of his neck—still just a faint scar from their first careful claiming months ago—itched like it remembered what it was missing. Toge exhaled slowly, lips moving against the fabric.
“Tuna mayo…” he whispered to no one. I miss you.
He didn’t expect an answer.
The lock clicked at 2:17 a.m.
Toge’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move at first, heart hammering so hard it hurt. Footsteps—quiet, familiar, careful not to wake anyone who might be sleeping—crossed the genkan. Then the scent hit, rolling through the apartment like a storm front. Ozone. Sharp, clean lightning after rain. Wet concrete and mountain air and something unmistakably Yuta. Stronger than memory, richer than the faded traces in the laundry. Alive. Home.
Toge sat up too fast. The room tilted.
Yuta appeared in the doorway still wearing his mission coat, hair longer than when he’d left and damp from the light rain outside. His eyes found Toge immediately, dark circles under them softening the moment they landed on the crumpled figure on the couch. The Alpha’s shoulders dropped. Relief and something sharper—regret, maybe—flashed across his face.
“Toge,” he breathed.
The name alone sent another wave through Toge’s body. He tried to stand, legs unsteady, and Yuta crossed the room in three strides. Strong arms caught him before he could stumble, pulling him flush against a solid chest that radiated heat and that devastating scent. Toge buried his face in the crook of Yuta’s neck without thinking, inhaling so deeply his lungs ached. Ozone flooded him. Rain. Safety. Alpha.
Yuta’s arms tightened, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Toge’s head, fingers threading gently through messy silver hair. “I’m sorry. The mission ran long. I tried to call but service was—” He stopped, breathing in Toge’s scent in turn, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. “You’re burning up. Dry heat?”
Toge nodded against his shoulder. No point hiding it. His hands fisted in the back of Yuta’s coat. Mustard leaf, he wanted to say. I’m struggling. But the words felt too heavy, so he just pressed closer, letting his body speak for him. The contact helped instantly. The fever didn’t vanish, but it shifted—less like isolation and more like anticipation.
Yuta pulled back just enough to look at him. His gaze traced the shadows under Toge’s eyes, the flush high on his cheeks, then drifted past him to the sad little nest in the bedroom doorway. Something tender and pained crossed his expression.
“You built a nest.”
Toge shrugged, cheeks warming further. “Salmon roe.”
Yuta’s thumb brushed his cheekbone. “It’s small. You should’ve used the whole bed. All the blankets. Anything you wanted.” His voice dropped, rough with exhaustion and emotion. “I hate that you were here alone like this.”
Toge shook his head. He reached up, fingers tracing the line of Yuta’s jaw, feeling the faint stubble and the tension there. Then he tapped two fingers against Yuta’s chest—you—before tapping his own. Me.Simple. Enough.
Yuta understood. He always did. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m here now. Not leaving again for a while. They promised me some downtime after this one.”
The relief that washed through Toge was almost dizzying. Another wave of heat rolled over him, stronger this time, encouraged by the proximity of his Alpha. He shivered. Yuta noticed immediately, scooping him up without effort and carrying him toward the bedroom. Toge let his head rest on Yuta’s shoulder, breathing him in with every step.
The nest looked even smaller when Yuta set him down beside it. Pathetic piles of fabric. Yuta didn’t laugh or tease. He just knelt, shrugging off his coat and adding it straight into the pile. Then the hoodie underneath, still warm from his body. He arranged them carefully around Toge, building the walls higher, tucking the edges in with deliberate care. His scent bloomed fresh and thick, layering over everything. Claiming the space.
Toge watched, chest tight. When Yuta finally climbed in beside him, pulling Toge into his lap, the Omega melted. Their bodies fit together the way they always had—Toge’s slighter frame tucked perfectly against Yuta’s broader one. Hands roamed slowly. Comfort first. Yuta’s palms stroked down his back, along his sides, mapping every tense muscle until Toge was pliant and purring softly in the back of his throat.
“You’re wearing my old uniform jacket,” Yuta murmured against his hair, a smile in his voice. “Looks better on you.”
“Konbu,” Toge replied, the word warm and fond. Good.
They stayed like that for a long time, just breathing each other in. The heat between them built gradually, naturally. Touches lingered. Yuta’s lips found the sensitive spot beneath Toge’s ear, then lower, over the old bond scar. Toge tilted his head, offering without hesitation. The Alpha’s breath hitched.
“Toge… are you sure? You’re already—”
“Shake.” Yes. Clear. Certain. Toge’s fingers dug into Yuta’s shoulders. He’d waited long enough. They both had. The ring on Yuta’s finger—simple silver band Toge had given him before the last mission—caught the low lamplight as Yuta cupped his face. Their eyes met.
This wasn’t just heat. This was the next step. The one they’d danced around for months, waiting for the right moment when the world wasn’t pulling them apart.
Yuta kissed him slowly at first, deep and reverent, tasting like exhaustion and homecoming and love so fierce it hurt. Toge responded with everything he had, the dry fever finally cresting into something sweeter, wetter, more complete. Clothes were shed with quiet murmurs—more food words from Toge, soft laughter from Yuta when he got tangled in a sleeve. When Yuta’s teeth grazed the bond mark again, Toge arched into him with a broken sound that wasn’t cursed speech at all. Just need.
The bite, when it came, was careful. Yuta’s Alpha instincts guided him—reopening the scar with precision, flooding the mark with fresh claim while Toge clung to him, nails digging into his back. Pleasure and pain blurred. Toge bit him in return, right over the pulse point on Yuta’s neck, small blunt teeth sinking in as his own Omega instincts surged. The connection snapped into place like cursed energy completing a circuit.
Their scents shifted almost immediately.
Ozone and rain wove tighter with Toge’s own lighter scent—crisp green tea and toasted rice, with the faint sweetness of onigiri wrapping. They didn’t just mingle anymore. They harmonized. A mated pair. Permanent. The air in the little nest grew thick with it, wrapping around them like another blanket.
Afterward they lay tangled together, Yuta’s larger frame curled protectively around Toge, one hand resting over the fresh mark. Their breathing synced. The apartment no longer felt too quiet. It felt full.
Yuta pressed a lazy kiss to Toge’s temple. “The ring felt heavier while I was gone,” he admitted quietly. “Like it knew I should’ve been here.”
Toge traced the band on Yuta’s finger, then brought it to his lips. “Salmon roe.” I’m happy now. He nestled closer, exhaustion and satisfaction pulling him under. The nest finally felt right—walls reinforced by Yuta’s coat, his hoodie, his arms. Their scents permanently intertwined.
Outside, Tokyo kept moving. Curses stirred in the dark. Missions waited. But inside, the weight of the ring had settled into something deeper. A promise kept. A pack of two, beginning.
Yuta’s voice was the last thing Toge heard before sleep took him.
“I love you. Get some rest. I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in weeks, the heat eased into warmth, safe and shared.
.
The spring air at Tokyo Jujutsu High carried the usual mix of damp grass, old wood, and the faint metallic tang of lingering cursed energy. A few months had passed since Yuta’s return, since the night their scents had locked together like two halves of the same storm. Life had settled into a careful rhythm—quiet mornings in their apartment, shared patrols when assignments allowed, and the steady comfort of waking up to ozone and rain wrapped around toasted rice and green tea. But lately something had felt… different. Toge’s body was changing in small ways he couldn’t ignore. The fatigue that clung to him after missions. The way certain smells made his stomach turn. The subtle warmth low in his belly that wasn’t heat.
Yuta had noticed too. Of course he had. The Alpha hadn’t pushed, but his hand lingered longer on Toge’s back whenever they walked together, and his cursed energy brushed against him constantly now, gentle but present.
Today they were here for answers.
They walked the familiar stone path toward the infirmary side by side. Yuta’s fingers brushed Toge’s wrist every few steps, not quite holding his hand but close enough that their pulses synced. Toge wore one of Yuta’s oversized jackets over his uniform, the collar turned up against the breeze. It helped. Everything that carried Yuta’s scent helped these days.
“You don’t have to look so tense,” Yuta said softly, voice low so it wouldn’t carry across the grounds. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. Together.”
Toge glanced up at him. Yuta’s face still carried the faint lines of exhaustion from their last joint mission, but his eyes were steady. Anchor eyes. Toge bumped their shoulders together lightly.
“Salmon,” he murmured. I know. Then, after a beat, “Tuna mayo.” I’m okay.
Yuta’s mouth curved into a small smile, but the worry didn’t fully leave his shoulders.
Shoko Ieiri was waiting in the infirmary, cigarette dangling from her lips as she flipped through some papers. The room smelled of antiseptic, smoke, and the faint floral undertone of her own scent—calm, neutral, the kind that put most people at ease. She raised an eyebrow when they entered, gaze flicking between them.
“Well, you two look like you’re attending a funeral. Sit. Let’s get this over with.”
Toge perched on the edge of the examination table while Yuta stayed close, leaning against the wall but never more than arm’s reach away. Shoko ran the usual checks—cursed energy scan, a few questions about symptoms—her movements efficient and unhurried. When she pressed the scanner lower, focusing on Toge’s abdomen, she paused. Her eyes narrowed slightly, then widened a fraction. She took another drag of her cigarette.
“Huh. Well. Congratulations, I guess.”
The words landed heavy in the quiet room.
Toge’s breath caught. He stared at her, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. Pregnant. The confirmation settled over him like a thick blanket—warm in one moment, suffocating in the next. A child. Their child. In this world of curses that never stopped coming, where missions stole weeks at a time and death waited around every corner. His mind spun through flashes: empty apartments, blood on training fields, the way Rika’s shadow still sometimes haunted Yuta’s eyes on bad nights.
Yuta moved instantly. He crossed the space in one stride, hand settling on Toge’s shoulder, thumb stroking the side of his neck right over the bond mark. The Alpha’s scent surged around them, ozone sharpening with protective instinct.
“Pregnant,” Yuta repeated, almost reverently. Then quieter, just for Toge, “Hey. Breathe with me.”
Toge did, leaning into the touch. The warmth of Yuta’s palm grounded him. The panic didn’t vanish, but it eased, pushed back by the steady thrum of cursed energy that now radiated from Yuta like a shield. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm—safe, even as the world outside kept turning dangerously.
Shoko exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “Early stages. Everything looks stable for now. Your body’s handling the cursed energy fluctuations better than most Omegas in your position would, Inumaki. Probably because of the bond. Keep resting. No heavy solo missions. And eat properly—none of that skipping meals nonsense.”
Toge nodded slowly. He placed a hand over his still-flat stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing everything had changed. “Mustard leaf…” I understand. His voice came out softer than usual.
Yuta stayed glued to his side as they left the infirmary. The moment they stepped into the open hallway, the shift in Yuta became impossible to miss. His cursed energy expanded outward in a slow, unconscious wave—ten meters easy, maybe more. It pressed against the air like invisible gravity. Students and faculty who passed by felt it. Two lower-ranked Alpha sorcerers from the Kyoto exchange program who had been lingering near the courtyard suddenly straightened, shoulders hunching as if someone had dropped a weight on them. They glanced toward Toge, then quickly looked away, hurrying off in the opposite direction.
Toge noticed. He glanced up at Yuta, whose jaw was set, eyes scanning their surroundings with quiet intensity. The Alpha probably didn’t even realize he was doing it yet.
They walked toward the training fields because Toge needed air. Cherry blossoms drifted across the path. Yuta kept one arm loosely around his shoulders now, the other hand occasionally flexing as if ready to summon a blade at any second. When an older instructor— one of the more traditional elders who had never quite approved of their pairing—approached with what looked like a complaint on his lips, the man faltered mid-step. The crushing pressure of Yuta’s energy hit him fully. The elder’s face paled. He muttered something about “later” and retreated.
Toge couldn’t help the small huff of amusement that escaped him. He tugged on Yuta’s sleeve.
“Salmon roe,” he said clearly, meeting Yuta’s eyes. I’m okay. I’m happy.
Yuta blinked, the tension in his frame easing a fraction. “You keep saying that lately.”
“Because it’s true.” The words were rare and precious when Toge used his actual voice for them, soft and uncommanding, meant only for Yuta. He stopped walking, turning to face his Alpha fully. His hand came up to rest over Yuta’s heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm. “This world is dangerous. Always has been. But we’re still here. You came back. We built something real.”
Yuta’s hand covered his, pressing it closer. The cursed energy shield tightened subtly around them, cocooning rather than crushing now. “I know. I just… the thought of anything happening to you. To both of you.” His free hand drifted down, hovering hesitantly over Toge’s stomach. “I can’t lose this. Not after everything.”
“You won’t.” Toge leaned in, pressing their foreheads together the way they had that night in the apartment. Their scents mingled perfectly—ozone and rain embracing toasted rice and green tea, now with the tiniest new thread of something small and precious woven between them. “Salmon roe, Yuta.”
They stayed like that for a long while, under the blooming trees. Students gave them a wide berth, sensing the barrier. Panda lumbered by in the distance, offering a cheerful wave but not interrupting. Maki walked past with a knowing smirk and a nod, her own protective instincts probably approving of the display.
Later, back in one of the quieter common rooms, Yuta finally sat down, pulling Toge into his lap without asking. His arms wrapped around him fully, nose buried against the bond mark as he scented him slowly, thoroughly. Calming himself as much as Toge.
“I’ll talk to the higher-ups,” Yuta murmured against his skin. “Light duties only. Desk work if they argue. And I’ll be with you for every appointment.”
Toge nodded, relaxing into the solid warmth. The fear still lingered at the edges—images of what could go wrong in their line of work—but Yuta’s presence pushed it back again and again. The Shield, they’d probably call him soon enough. Toge smiled faintly at the thought. He liked the idea of being protected that fiercely. Liked even more that he could soothe the Alpha in return.
“Salmon roe,” he whispered one more time, turning his head to press a kiss to Yuta’s jaw.
Yuta’s arms tightened, a low, content rumble vibrating in his chest. Outside, the world of curses waited. Inside their small circle of cursed energy and mated scents, something new and fragile had taken root. A future they would fight for, together.
The confirmation was silent, but it echoed louder than any spoken word. They were going to be a family. And Yuta’s energy wrapped around them both like a promise—no one would touch what was his.
.
The second trimester had crept up on them quietly, the way spring rain turns into steady summer warmth without much announcement. Toge’s belly had rounded noticeably now, a gentle curve that made his uniforms fit differently and turned simple movements into careful calculations. The nausea had mostly faded, replaced by something deeper—an insistent, humming drive that pulled at him from the moment he woke up until he finally collapsed into bed. Nesting.
It wasn’t just wanting comfort anymore. It was need. Everything had to be right. The apartment had slowly transformed over the past two weeks, one item at a time, until Yuta started joking that he needed a map to find the couch.
Toge stood in the middle of the living room that afternoon, hands on his lower back, surveying his work with a critical eye. The couch had been pushed against the far wall and stripped of its usual cushions. In their place rose a large, layered structure that spilled across most of the floor space. Blankets from their bed formed the base—soft, worn ones that carried both their scents deeply embedded. Over that he’d arranged Yuta’s clothes in careful concentric circles: hoodies, training jackets, even the spare uniforms that still faintly smelled of the training fields.
But it still wasn’t perfect.
He frowned, lips pressing together. The left side felt too open. Too exposed. Toge waddled over—there was no other word for it these days—and tugged at the edge of a thick quilt, folding it higher. Then he stepped back again. Still not right. His hands moved restlessly over his belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement inside that always made his breath catch.
“Konbu,” he muttered to himself. Not good enough.
The pickiness had grown sharp. Yesterday he’d rejected an entire pile of blankets because one had been washed with the wrong detergent and carried a chemical edge that made his nose wrinkle. The day before that, he’d spent twenty minutes rearranging pillows because the alignment didn’t feel symmetrical enough to protect the center.
Today’s mission was texture.
Toge had already taken Yuta’s favorite black sweater—the oversized one Yuta wore on lazy days at home, the one that still carried the strongest concentration of ozone and rain. He’d “stolen” it from the laundry basket that morning, burying his face in it for a long minute before carefully weaving it into the inner wall of the nest. It was the cornerstone now. Nothing felt safe without it.
But he needed more.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Toge padded over, opening it to find Panda standing there with an amused glint in his eyes and a small cloth bag in one massive paw.
“You rang?” Panda rumbled, voice warm. “Or, well, texted. Same thing.”
Toge nodded gratefully and gestured him inside. He pointed at the bag, then made a fluffing motion with his hands.
Panda chuckled and opened the bag, revealing clumps of soft, dark fur he’d shed during his last maintenance session. “Fresh from the source. Figured you might want the good stuff. It’s clean, promise.”
Toge took the bag with careful hands, inhaling. The fur carried Panda’s steady, earthy scent—woodsy and strong, like an old forest guardian. Perfect for the outer layers. Protection. Pack. He made a small pleased sound in the back of his throat.
“Salmon roe.”
Panda watched as Toge immediately set to work, tucking the fur into the perimeter of the nest, layering it between folds of fabric so it created a soft, insulating barrier. The big panda-like curse leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“You’ve really gone all out. The whole living room, huh?”
Toge shrugged, but there was no embarrassment in it. This was instinct. Necessary. He adjusted one particularly stubborn clump of fur, then crawled into the nest on his hands and knees, turning slowly to test the feel. The center dipped comfortably under his weight. Yuta’s sweater brushed against his cheek. Panda’s fur created a buffer that blocked the sharper edges of the room’s ambient cursed energy. It was… closer.
Still, something was missing.
Panda stayed for a while, helping move a heavy floor cushion when Toge pointed, but eventually he had to leave for training. “Tell Yuta I said the den looks great,” he called on his way out.
Alone again, Toge kept working. He dimmed the lights. Lit a couple of safe, unscented candles because fire felt grounding even if he couldn’t explain why. He raided the bedroom one more time, dragging every spare pillow and the thin summer comforter. The nest grew taller, more enclosed, until it resembled a proper den—cozy, multi-layered, with a clear view of the apartment door but shielded on all other sides.
By the time evening fell, Toge was exhausted but satisfied. He curled up in the very center, surrounded by their combined scents, the faint new thread of the pregnancy, and now Panda’s protective presence woven in. His hands rested over his belly. The baby moved again—stronger kicks now—and Toge hummed a low, wordless note, the same vibration he sometimes used on missions to steady himself.
The front door clicked open around eight.
Yuta stepped inside, shrugging off his coat, hair still slightly damp from the light rain outside. His scent rolled in with him—ozone sharp and clean, rain fresh on pavement. He paused in the genkan, taking in the transformed living room.
The couch was gone. The floor had become a landscape of fabric and cushions. The massive nest dominated everything, walls high enough that only the top of Toge’s silver hair was visible from where he lay curled inside.
Toge lifted his head, watching Yuta’s reaction carefully. Part of him braced for confusion or mild annoyance at the mess. The apartment had been neat when Yuta left that morning.
But Yuta’s expression softened immediately. His eyes warmed, the tension from whatever meetings or training he’d dealt with melting off his shoulders. He kicked off his shoes and padded closer, socks quiet on the floor.
“Wow,” he said gently, crouching at the edge of the nest. “You’ve been busy.”
Toge sat up a little, cheeks faintly warm. “Mustard leaf.” It’s not done yet. But there was no real protest in it. He gestured vaguely at the structure, then patted the empty space beside him.
Yuta didn’t hesitate. He climbed in carefully, mindful of where he put his weight, until he was fully inside the den. The walls of fabric rose around them, creating an intimate pocket cut off from the rest of the world. Yuta stretched out on his side, facing Toge, one hand immediately reaching out to rest over the curve of his belly.
“It feels… safe,” Yuta murmured after a moment. He ran his fingers along the edge of his own black sweater woven into the wall and smiled. “You took my favorite one.”
“Salmon,” Toge confirmed, unapologetic. He shifted closer until their legs tangled. “Tuna mayo.”
Yuta chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I’m not complaining. It looks perfect in here.” His nose brushed Toge’s temple, then lower, along his neck, inhaling deeply. Scenting. The Alpha’s cursed energy unfurled naturally, that familiar shield expanding to wrap around the entire nest. It pressed gently against the walls, reinforcing them, pushing away any stray negative energy that might drift in from the city outside.
Toge relaxed fully for the first time all day. He tucked his head under Yuta’s chin, one hand fisting lightly in the front of Yuta’s shirt. The baby kicked again, harder this time, and Yuta’s breath hitched.
“Active today, huh?” Yuta whispered, rubbing slow circles over the spot. “Hey, little one. Your dad built us a fortress.”
The reassurance poured over Toge like warm water. He’d spent hours worrying the nest wasn’t good enough, that it wouldn’t keep them safe from the curses that always seemed to find sorcerers, that the baby wouldn’t feel secure. But with Yuta here, inside it, the doubts quieted.
They lay together for a long time, talking in low voices about nothing important. Yuta described the training session he’d led earlier, how some of the first-years still couldn’t control their output. Toge listened, occasionally interjecting with food words that made Yuta laugh. At one point Toge reached out and adjusted a blanket near Yuta’s shoulder, tucking it more securely so no drafts could sneak in.
Yuta noticed and helped without being asked, shifting his weight so Toge could rearrange an entire section of the wall. “Better?” he asked patiently.
“Shake.” Yes.
When the nesting urge finally settled for the evening, Toge melted against him. Yuta’s scenting grew deeper, slower—long drags of his nose along Toge’s hair, his neck, across his collarbones and down to the swell of his belly. Each pass layered fresh ozone and rain over everything, marking the den thoroughly. Claiming it as theirs. Safe.
“No curses are getting in here,” Yuta said quietly against his skin, as if reading the worry that still lingered at the edges of Toge’s mind. “Not with both of us. Not with this.” His cursed energy pulsed once, strong and steady, wrapping the nest like invisible wards. “You’ve built something really good, Toge.”
Toge hummed that low vibrating note again, the one that felt like safety and home. He pressed a soft kiss to the underside of Yuta’s jaw.
“Salmon roe.”
Yuta smiled, arms tightening around him. The living room lights stayed dim. The world outside—the missions, the elders, the constant threats—felt distant and muffled. Inside the carefully constructed nest, surrounded by stolen sweaters and Panda’s fur and their perfectly blended scents, the three of them (soon to be more) existed in a pocket of peace.
Yuta eventually dozed off with one hand still protectively over Toge’s belly. Toge stayed awake a little longer, listening to the steady heartbeat under his ear and the faint, new rhythm beneath his own skin. The nest was finally right. Complete.
He closed his eyes, content, knowing that when morning came he might rearrange it all over again. And Yuta would simply smile, climb in beside him, and make it feel like home every single time.