Chapter Text
I was only gone for two weeks.
The thought feels uncharitable, the lucid anger and defeat that surrounds it tugging Nanami between betrayal, guilt and shame. But those are useless feelings, easily pushed aside in the face of the urgent matter before him.
“Gojo!” Nanami calls, straining to keep his voice from yelling, but it is difficult, when Nanami feels so out of control.
Gojo bucks, his back slamming into Nanami’s chest. He hits hard enough that Nanami struggles for breath, but Nanami doesn’t dare let go of Gojo’s arms. He has them pinned to Gojo’s chest with one hand, digging his nails in and keeping his arm tense and tight. He straddles Gojo, using his own weight to keep Gojo down on the floor and to minimize his thrashing. It’s absurdly difficult despite the fact that Nanami has several kilos of muscle on his teenage student. The only thing working in his favour right now is that Gojo is too far gone to think of how to escape rationally, acting more like an animal cornered than the strongest sorcerer of the era. There is no doubt that feral animals are far more dangerous in most circumstances, but Nanami counts his lucky stars that Gojo at least seems to be able to recognize his scent. He’s struggling, yes, but he isn’t out for blood like he had been before Nanami arrived on the scene.
The price of that is Nanami’s shredded wrist. It’s a petty sacrifice to keep from any further destruction. He winces but doesn’t struggle any more than pressing himself down further on Gojo’s back, allowing Gojo’s fangs to remain lodged deep in his wrist, piercing right into his scent gland. It’s demeaning that the scent of an omega pressed right into Gojo’s nose is the only thing keeping Gojo from further carnage, but the reality is no one on this campus - in Japan, if not the world - is equipped to stop Gojo Satoru. Nanami hates that he has to resort to manipulation against his student, but there is already one fatality and Nanami refuses to allow this to get any further out of hand.
Yaga is behind him, keeping Gojo’s legs from thrashing. Ieiri is to the side, shaking as she arranges for a sedative, still going through the process of checking for air bubbles as she prepares for the syringe and makes sure there are no foreign contaminants on it. Which is a feat itself considering her hands are covered in blood.
“Gojo,” Nanami calls again, wrangling his own gasping voice into some semblance of calm. “Satoru, breathe,” he speaks into Gojo’s ear who flinches, one bloodshot eye filled with prismatic blue trained completely on Nanami’s face, wary like a predator looking for a chance to attack. Nanami stays as clear of Gojo’s neck as he can, putting his own throat out in the line of fire as Gojo chews on the muscle of his forearm, his ragged breathing puffing into Nanami’s bloodied skin. The fact he can feel the tingling of air gives Nanami hope there isn’t nerve damage, but it’s not like he is in the best place to assess himself given the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The arch of his throat draws Gojo’s eye. Nanami can’t see it, but he can feel it and he keeps himself poised there, several agonizing minutes going by as Gojo’s rapid breathing slowly begins to even out, hypnotized by the calming scent Nanami is forcibly projecting.
Then Ieiri stabs the needle into Gojo’s ass.
Gojo roars, spitting out Nanami’s wrist to bellow the sound, sending Ieiri to her knees. Yaga makes several growls behind him, threatened and anxious, but he seems to keep some semblance of control, refusing to move.
Nanami fights not to go limp. The sound resonates through his eardrums right through his chest, down to his very bone. His instincts overtake him and he shudders, fear and anxiety doubling. For a heart stopping moment, Nanami finds his thighs loosening, the omega part of his hind-brain taking over instinctively to respond to the threat by showing their belly.
But Nanami hasn’t trained his entire life suppressing the inconvenience of his biology for nothing. If he could stamp out the instinctive human urge to freeze at the sight of a cursed monster lunging to kill him, he can ignore the pitiful call of a teenage alpha trying to establish dominance.
So when Gojo lurches up and back, teeth a hair’s breadth from his throat, dislodging Nanami and Yaga, Nanami doesn’t allow himself to be flung away. He wraps his arms around Gojo, switching his hold enough to keep Gojo from trying to get to his feet. The teen writhes in anger, hands and nails gouging Nanami’s back as he tries to get him off.
“Easy,” Nanami says, his damaged hand coming up to purchase Gojo’s hair, stray blood streaking over the white strands.
Nanami’s hand switches between touching the thick strands to touching nothing, Gojo’s infinity going wild and out of control. He’s been practicing making it automotive, but it’s only been a few weeks and the teen is currently in the midst of a feral episode, tenuous concentration leaving it unmanageable. When he has enough time to touch, he grabs the strands and yanks, forcing Gojo right into his throat.
A stupidly suicidal move. Nanami’s instincts scream to push Gojo away, but he remains firm, practically smothering Gojo right into his scent gland.
Finally, Gojo freezes. For a moment, no one moves, dares to breathe, as they all await whether Gojo is going to tear his throat out or be appeased. Nanami’s own chest is stuck on in an inhale, chest expanded and touching Gojo’s. For a second, Nanami can practically feel Gojo’s explosive heartbeat against his sternum.
Then Gojo goes limp, whining pathetically as he mouths over Nanami’s scent gland. Nanami winces at the rough tongue that licks over the expressed oils, but ultimately, he decides it’s harmless. Like a kitten lapping at its mother’s teat.
That’s what Geto had said nearly two year ago when Gojo had pathetically curled up against Nanami after a mission that left them stranded in the countryside during a blizzard and Gojo’s first rut. He pushes that memory away.
Whatever Ieiri had given him finally kicks in. Nanami only exhales when Gojo goes limp in his arms. He holds his student tight, keeping Gojo’s nose to his gland, and then turns his head slowly to survey the damage.
The building’s north facing wall is obliterated, wooden splints and metal rebar twisted out of shape as the wall next to it threatens to collapse. The evening sun’s light pools right into the room, the crisp autumn wind blowing debris around and helping dissipate the oppressive scent of an alpha in rut.
And the wretched stench of blood.
“Explain,” Nanami finally says, protectively holding Gojo into his chest as his student makes several whimpers of distress in his sleep. The amount of heat Gojo is giving off makes it so Nanami can’t even feel the chill of the wind. It’s not normal. Nanami has had an overly clingy Gojo stick to him during his rut. He knows that Gojo runs hot during his rut fever, but right now, Nanami is fearful that Gojo’s brain might actually melt.
Admirably, Ieiri moves first, trying to get to her feet before she gives up and just crawls to them. “S-Stress,” she says, stumbling only slightly over her words as she reaches her hand out to take Gojo’s pulse. “He’s been running on a high since he killed that assassin guy and taking on wayyyyy too many mission,” Nanami notes the slur in Ieiri’s voice, mindful she must be at her limit too, “and then he fucked himself up trying to put a physical barrier between him and the world, which weakened his bond with Geto, and then Geto fucking snapped and left , and Gojo tried to confront him, but it’s not like he can kill his own mate, so the idiot just comes back here and starts eating suppressants by the fistful like a fucking - ”
“Shoko,” Nanami interrupts. “Breathe.”
Shakily, she does. After several moments, she composes herself, the wild edge in her eyes fading slightly. “His body triggered a rut to try and regulate him. But it picked up immediately that his mate isn’t here . And that put Gojo into an even more stressful position - and I don’t know what happened, but this old guy just barged into the student dorms with some omegas behind him and well,” she laughs, gesturing to the mess. “You can see what happened.”
Said ‘old guy’ is most certainly dead, barely recognizable as human from how his skin and muscles were practically ripped from his torso at the explosion of Gojo’s cursed energy. A pair of legs remain, and from the tattered royal blue hakama, Nanami can vaguely guess he was a messenger of the Gojo clan. Several metres away two more bodies are strewn, hurt, but alive at least. To the left, where the building still stands, the wall is nearly pristine, undisturbed by the blast radius. Where Ieiri must have been sitting, Nanami thinks.
Barely half an hour ago, Nanami had been walking up the stairs of Jujutsu Tech College when he felt that massive explosion of energy. And now.
“I’ll deal with this, Nanami.” Yaga’s deep voice sounds exhausted and shaken, the most perturbed Nanami has ever heard his former teacher’s voice. “You focus on Gojo.”
Deal with what ? Nanami thinks hysterically. The omega inside him is livid, on the verge of it’s own meltdown, at the state of his pack upon his return home. That’s twice now he’s trusted Yaga to take care of things when he was called away, and twice he’s come back to blood on campus and his pack in peril. Now Geto is gone, Ieiri is in shock, and Gojo is limp in Nanami’s arms, on death’s doorstep.
Focus. He needs to focus. There is a task at hand. Gojo comes first.
“Can you heal him?” Nanami asks Ieiri, compartmentalizing the rest of Ieiri’s shaky explanation to be dealt with later. He’s back because he was informed Geto was gone. It doesn’t make it easier to digest. “With your technique - ”
She shakes her head. “This is beyond me - I don’t have a wound to tend to, sensei. His hormones are fucked up beyond belief and there is nothing I can do to untangle that, at my level. I can keep him from frying himself alive, but until we regulate his hormones, it’ll just keep happening again and again. His own reversed curse technique isn’t kicking in - it’s proving how irregular this rut is.”
Nanami files that away, grimacing. “The hospital? They’re equipped with rut rooms and stablizers.”
“No,” she whispers, voice betraying the level of emotion she must be keeping at bay. “Nanami-sensei, if you take him away from his territory, he might just destroy the hospital building. And,” she chuckles dryly, tone defeated and sardonic, “beside, I don’t think you have time - he’s too far gone. I never thought those fucking tropes happened in real life, but sensei, if someone doesn’t fuck him, he’s going to die.”
Nanami tries to keep his own panicked shaking at bay. He shakes his head. “The bond - he won’t accept anyone else - ”
“It’s half formed, you know this,” Ieiri interrupts, looking crazed as she pins Nanami with a loaded look. “Anyone else and Gojo would have massacred this entire place. He only stopped because you came.” Then she reaches out to grab Nanami’s mangled wrist.
Nanami bites his tongue to keep from groaning in pain as his muscles and skin knit itself back together. He nearly drops Gojo’s dead weight to curl over himself. Ieiri’s technique might heal at a rapid level unseen before, but it’s not without consequences. If Ieiri were to try and heal Gojo, the shock of it might send him into cardiac arrest.
“Please, sensei.” The grip on Nanami’s healed wrist is desperate. “You have to help him.”
Nanami stays curled over Gojo’s prone body, not able to meet Ieiri’s eyes. “I can’t - I am his teacher - ”
“You’re our pack omega,” Ieiri interrupts, voice hurried with urgency.
Nanami recoils. “I’m not . This - I’m your teacher, and nothing more. I’ve been over-seeing your pack, but I am not part of it.”
Ieiri looks livid. “I don’t have time to argue with your sense of propriety, sensei. The proof is right beside you. I already told you, the idiot would have killed anyone else.”
“Shoko,” Nanami tries, grasping her wrist as she shakes with a combination of fear and anger, “you’re mistaken, he likely just recognized my scent as a trusted adult - ”
“He nearly killed Yaga-sensei,” Iieri hisses, turning Nanami’s grip around and clutching at his wrist, right over Nanami’s overexpressed scent gland Gojo had mangled. “He stopped because it’s you. Only you.”
Nanami finds himself at a loss, words failing in the face of Iieri’s unusually focused eyes. They hold a gravitas to them that Nanami can’t pry away from, and finds his explanations - exuses - failing in his throat.
“I can’t , ” Nanami presses, “Shoko - please, it can’t be me - what about y-” Nanami cuts himself off abruptly, horrified at what he was about to suggest. Ieiri was a late bloomer, her puberty happening not long after Gojo and Geto. She had confided in Nanami about whether something was wrong with her, the way she felt no sexual desire despite going through her first heat.
“If I could, I would,” Ieiri’s nails dig into Nanami’s wrist, reopening the wound. Her slender hand trembles but her grip is unrelenting. “Sensei, please. His temperature is rapidly rising. He has fifteen to twenty minutes at most before I will have to start trying to reverse the damage the heat will cause to his organs. But without an outlet it will just be an endless cycle. It’ll torture him until either I give out or he gives out. Please. Sensei.”
Any retort dies pitifully at the desperate hiccups in Ieiri’s voice as she holds back tears. Nanami has never seen her beg for anything, never seen her cry. His eyes flit down to where Gojo lays, breathing ragged and unsteady even in his sleep.
Yaga is nowhere to be found, unsurprisingly. But does it really matter? The man may be older than Nanami, but Nanami is keenly aware of the loss of trust between them now. And there is no one else of campus Nanami could even think to turn to for a solution. Even if he begged Ieiri to keep reversing Gojo’s fever until Nanami could come back with heat service workers, there is a good chance Gojo would just end up killing them as he nearly did to the ones sent by the Gojo Clan. The only omega that Gojo wouldn’t murder on sight is Geto. And even if Nanami can miraculously find Geto, what can he do? Drag his other student back to get fucked by an out-of-his-mind mate? The thought is as appalling as trying to push this on Ieiri.
There are no other options.
Nanami wants to crawl backwards and away, to snarl and snap and scold them for even suggesting Nanami fuck his student. But Nanami doesn’t because he knows she’s right. Gojo is going to die to his own body if Nanami doesn’t do something.
“Okay,” he answers, pushing down the nausea of anxious guilt. Tries to compartmentalize this as a task. He has a clear objective. He knows the steps to fulfil his goal. He just has to do it.
Fuck Gojo, keep him alive, and never think about this day again.
_
Gojo is nearly incoherent, but it seems his reversed curse technique is working shallowly enough to burn through the sedatives. It makes things considerably easier but emotionally more damaging as Nanami lays his drugged student down on his bed. He thought of doing this in a more sterile environment, but he isn’t sure he could keep his own senses about him if he also tripped up on a sex high and found himself in an unfamiliar place.
So his own nest it is. Gojo moves lethargically but with intent, writhing over Nanami’s bed as if to leave his scent everywhere. In the few moments it takes for Nanami to grab some supplies, he comes back to Gojo humping the bed, still with his clothes on. It’s unsightly and demeaning, and Nanami has to bite his cheek hard to stop the instinctive growl of unease. Nanami had always valued the sanctity of his own space. It’s just another added violation that this safety net has been ripped away from him too.
It’s not Gojo’s fault, Nanami reminds himself and takes a deep breath. “Go - Satoru-kun, can you take off your clothes? I need to cool you down.”
The teen doesn’t listen, body still writhing, pitiful gasps uninterrupted. There is more vigor in his movements now, fueled with a single-minded purpose.
Nanami pinches himself and forces his legs forward. A mission. A task. Just another duty he has to get out of the way.
Stripping Gojo isn’t easy. As soon as Nanami gets a hand on Gojo’s arm, the alpha snarls, head whipping around and too-blue eyes blazing as his teeth snap at Nanami. Only his own fatigue and the dwindling effects of the sedative keeps him from lunging. Nanami is unsympathetic, shoving Gojo’s head down into the pillows and wrenching Gojo’s torn blazer off his body. Because he’s going so fast, his fingers snag in the collar of Gojo’s shirt. With the force of Nanami’s pull, the entire thing snaps, tearing off of Gojo’s body and leaving smooth, unblemished skin on display.
Nanami clenches his jaw, ignoring Gojo’s hissing. He keeps Gojo down by his neck, a feat in of itself that Gojo doesn’t struggle other than to growl warningly, and grabs a wet towel from the ice bucket he brought. Wiping Gojo down is methodical, almost clinical. The alpha teen flinches at the first cold touches, but once he realizes the relief it brings, he chases after the sensation, moaning and squirming.
The sounds make Nanami wince but he doesn’t stop his actions, dumping more towels on Gojo hurriedly to try and keep his body temperature at bay.
In response, Gojo grabs his pillow, bringing it up to his mouth and bites down. The pillow tears but Gojo doesn’t care, drooling and breathing in the pillow’s scent. Nanami feels uncomfortable, realizing it’s the pillow he uses to prop his hips up when masturbating. It’s likely absorbed his scent potently, despite the washes he’s given it. He pushes the thought away. By the time this is over, Nanami will be an expert in dissociation.
Eventually Nanami reaches the belt of Gojo’s pants and he hesitates. Despite the cold wash, Gojo is still entirely too heated. The droplets of water have already evaporated and Nanami realizes this is an exercise in futility.
Worse still, Gojo’s pheromones have only gotten more potent the longer he’s been left in this room. The Gojo clan have heralded Gojo Satoru as the pinnacle of man-kind and his prime alpha characteristics have only lent credence to that. Nanami’s head has been swimming since the moment he’s breathed in Gojo’s pheromones but he’s been keeping a relatively tight seal on it. But with Gojo now settled, purring at the cold touch and slowly grinding down into Nanami’s mattress, slobbering all over Nanami’s nest pillows, his pheromones have saturated the entire space and Nanami can’t take a single breath without being hit with a potent waft of arousal. It’s disorienting, this slow, slither into his own sex drive. Like he’s being slowly pulled underwater by his ankles, unaware until the water level hits his throat.
“Sensei,” Gojo moans, the word muffled around the pillow. He raises his hips up pointedly, as if to demand Nanami strip him.
So he does have awareness. A part of Nanami is relieved, having worried he’d have to take advantage of Gojo when the teen wouldn’t even know who was touching him.
But still Nanami hesitates. He can’t bring himself to take that last step.
And Gojo seems to realize this. The cold wash must have helped bring some clarity back because Gojo’s eyes lock with Nanami, the hazy blue filled with intent. Slowly, Gojo rolls over. “Sensei, you’re my partner,” he says, hands trailed down his naked chest.
Nanami hates that he can’t stop staring. Gojo's chest is lithe and toned, nothing compared to the musculature Nanami himself has. But it’s alluring, beautiful in the way only Gojo Satoru could be, unblemished skin taunting, as if calling to be marked up. It figures even Gojo’s nipples are a rosy pink, perked and enticing more than Nanami’s own breasts. The thought has him finally yanking his head away, a blush spreading across his cheeks. What is he thinking, comparing himself to his student? The pheromones must already be getting to him.
“Don’t look away,” Gojo whines, but there is a dangerous edge to it.
Complacent. Nanami let his guard down.
In a matter of seconds, Gojo grabs Nanami’s wrist in a punishing grip, yanking the older man into the bed. Nanami instinctively tries to fight, but Gojo just manhandles Nanami into a disadvantageous position, only stopping when it’s Nanami that’s on his back, wrists pinned above his head and an unhinged smiling Gojo straddling him.
“Don’t you look away from me, Sensei,” Gojo hisses, one hand keeping Nanami pinned with deceptive strength, the other grabbing Nanami’s jaw and forcing it up. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”
The words make little sense, the context escaping Nanami. He almost tries to struggle, but the grip Gojo has on his wrists is painful. He pushes down hard enough for Nanami’s bones to grind together, making him wince. The kid has no concept of his own strength right now, so Nanami remains placid.
He also doesn’t have much of a choice. Gojo’s hand on his jaw trails down, piano fingers cruelly digging into the scent gland by Nanami’s throat. Nanami instinctively flinches but it’s no use, Gojo’s hold is strong. It instantly makes him go limp, a natural prey instinct combined with the amount of dangerous alpha pheromones stinking up the air.
Gojo coos. “That’s right, Sensei.”
Nanami flinches, eyes closing when Gojo leans down, lips puckered. He only manages to shake his head to the side, the lips landing on his cheek instead. The chapped, dry skin scratches at Nanami’s skin as Gojo uncaringly begins mouthing up Nanami’s jaw, stopping when it meets his neck. He sniffs deep, hips gyrating down on Nanami’s belly and making Nanami shudder at the feeling of a thick, hard cock pressed against him.
“Sensei, you smell so good,” Gojo slurs, his voice tingling in Nanami’s ear.
Nanami tenses at the sound of a belt being unbuckled. His eyes flit down to Gojo uncaringly ripping his belt open with one hand and creating slack in his pants. He instinctively moves, hips bucking and trying to squirm away - his movements stopping Gojo from yanking down his pants. Gojo growls, unhappy, and defiantly shoves his hand down his pants, grabbing hold of his cock.
God, Nanami is not prepared for this. He is so uncomfortable, he feels like he could snap in half with how tense he is, fighting not to touch Gojo’s hips. He closes his eyes turning his head away as if that could help him.
The sound of skin on skin is unmistakable, as is the suddenly jerking motions of their bodies. “Sensei, Sensei,” Gojo moans.
A wave of potent aroused pheromones slam into Nanami.
Infinity , Nanami thinks hysterically. Gojo’s pheromones had been blocked by his limitless technique but now that Gojo is lost in the throes of his rut, his walls are literally coming down. And with it was the last barrier of defense Nanami could hope to have.
Gojo is a prime alpha. He could send mated pairs down to their knees with a blast of his pheromones. Nanami stands no chance.
“Sensei!” Gojo cries out as he cums. Turned away as he is, it catches Nanami off guard, Gojo’s musk takes over the room, as loudly alarming as Gojo's moans are. Nanami feels heat and finds his eyes instinctively flitting down to see a wet patch on Gojo's pants. The shame and sting of the act rushes through Nanami before a wave of arousal makes his entire body sing.
Nanami hadn’t even realized it, but he’d relaxed.
“Sensei, you look so good, smell so right,” Gojo slurs. Nanami wrenches his head back just as Gojo lifts up Nanami’s shirt, using his dirty, cum-stained hand and spreading it onto Nanami’s bare skin, right above his belt line which barely covers his lower pelvis.
“St - ” Nanami cuts himself before he can say ‘stop’, writhing as much as he can, breathing through his mouth to stop the influx of arousal assaulting his nose. His body is already heating, skin feeling several sizes too small, stomach clenching with each undulation of Gojo’s hips.
“Hmm?” Gojo licks a bead of sweat off of Nanami’s throat. “Were you calling me, Sensei?”
Nanami bites his tongue, refusing to answer. Gojo doesn’t care, kissing down Nanami’s throat until he’s stopped by the shirt. He doesn’t even pause, tearing the fabric like it’s paper, manhandling Nanami up to get the scraps away.
“Fuck, Sensei, your tits,” Gojo laughs, greedy, drunk, both hands immediately groping the small mound of flesh that constitute Nanami’s breasts. “You’re so cruel, Sensei,” Gojo mumbles, thumbs tracing Nanami’s areola. “When Suguru and I were younger you let us nurse from these. Now you won’t even let me see your bra.”
Nanami lurches, knocking Gojo’s hands away. For a moment, he almost covers his chest like a maiden, but the action is so ludicrous Nanami aborts and is left with his hand in the air. He still can’t meet Gojo’s eyes. “You were children unequipped to handle your new cycles,” he protests. It’s not uncommon for omegas to take care of the young as they figure out how to navigate their changing bodies, though it was typically left to pack omegas. Gojo and Geto had both been some version of touch-starved with no trust-worthy adult figure to explain their changing bodies so Nanami had provided them educational texts, allowing cuddles when either got particularly sensitized, Gojo particularly. It had only been for that first year, both barely fifteen and confused. They figured it out between themselves in the years since, as was only appropriate. He never thought he’d need to lend his body to either of them again.
“I’m not a child now, Kento-sensei,” Gojo sing-songs, but it’s vaguely threatening, Gojo grabbing both of Nanami’s wrists and wrenching them up and to the side. The action is so violent, Nanami instinctively looks to assess the threat, eyes catching Gojo’s blazing blue. “You’d be leaking milk like a faucet if you really perceive me like that.” Gojo ducks down as he drags Nanami’s arms up, forcing Nanami into an arch.
Nanami tries to struggle but Gojo presses his weight down harder. For a moment, the brat doesn’t say anything. Nanami hisses, locking eyes with Gojo, only to see that their pathway is fixated on a particular point. The mating mark Yu left behind, on the side of his throat.
“No, Sensei. We’re not your kids anymore. You’re ours now. You’re mine .”
For a heartstopping moment, Nanami thinks Gojo is going to bite over the scarred mating mark.
But then Gojo ducks his head down, soft lips landing in an open bite over the swell of Nanami’s left breast. The first touch of lips on Nanami’s sensitive nipple has him hissing, trying to back away.
Gojo giggles, broad tongue out and sweeping over Nanami’s large bud. “No milk here. But I can change that. If I get you pregnant, right, Na-na-mi sensei?”
Nanami recoils at the thought. “Don’t joke about that,” he demands.
“Who’s joking?” Gojo tilts his head to the side. “I should have just fucked a baby into Suguru. That would have kept him from leaving. I won’t make the same mistake with you, Kento-chan.”
That statement is dripping in vile, and it leaves Nanami momentarily at a loss.
Gojo takes advantage, dropping Nanami’s arms and shuffling back and manhandling Nanami once again to get his slacks off. Nanami’s too shocked to react, only belatedly lifting up his hands as if to stop Gojo, but it’s too late. His pants and underwear are ripped off him and thrown to the side, Gojo then shuffling them so that Nanami’s legs are splayed over Gojo’s lap.
“Pretty, pretty,” Gojo coos, but he’s not looking at Nanami, he’s staring hungrily down at the mess of blond curls covering the base of Nanami’s cock and cunt. His cock is soft, and Nanami feels vulnerable for it, feeling somehow smaller than his teenage student who grabs Nanami by the flesh of his thigh and wrenches his legs apart, eagerly looking at the small strings of wetness forming from Nanami’s pussy.
“Gojo - ”
“Shh,” Gojo cuts him off, hands rubbing up and down Nanami’s thighs reassuringly. “I’ll take care of you. Suguru taught me everything I need to know to please my omega. I won’t let you down, Sensei!”
Nanami fists the covers of his bed. Valiantly, he still refuses to look any further down than Gojo’s neck. “That - that isn’t necessary. If you just grab the lubricant, I can stretch myself out and let you in.” He’s not proud of the way his voice shakes, but he needs to remind Gojo that this is a task. A type of first aid. “You’re overheating again,” Nanami points out as if to add to the fact. And it’s true, Gojo is sweating, a red flush over his frame, visible from his pale skin. His actions from earlier only took the edge off and Nanami finds that familiar worry swelling again, even as his head spins.
“I’ll be fine ,” Gojo dismisses, leaving much room for doubt. “‘Sides, it’s my ‘responsibility’,” he says, like he’s parroting someone.
When Gojo tries to shuffle down, Nanami sits up as much as he can, pushing at Gojo’s shoulder. “Gojo - Satoru,” he switches tactics when Gojo’s eyes flash dangerously, “please, I am here to help you. So let me help.”
Gojo eyes him distrustfully, but the haze is still there and Nanami can tell Gojo isn’t thinking too clearly.
“Help?” Gojo questions as if the word is foreign to him. “Hmm, I don’t need help. I take care of people, you know?” Gojo doesn’t seem to realize he is rocking against Nanami, his bulge pressing into the back of Nanami’s thigh. Nanami flinches, trying to push his leg away. Gojo grabs it, fingers sinking into the flesh hard enough to leave a bruise. Suddenly his eyes light up. “Ah! Sensei, are you putting me to the test?” Gojo snickers. “You wanna see the goods? See if I am ‘worthy’?”
Nanami’s pushed back before he can scold Gojo for that erroneous leap in logic. In seconds, Gojo’s hands fly back to his own pants. Nanami panics and looks away, only for Gojo to grab him by the jaw. “Don’t turn away from me,” Gojo hisses warningly, uncaring that Nanami has both of his hands wrapped around Gojo’s wrist, trying to pull it away.
Gojo doesn’t budge. Trying to close his eyes has Gojo digging his fingers in painfully. Nanami is forced to look down, watching as columns of pale, muscular thighs come into view as the ruined fabric is thrown away. However, it’s not the sight of them that has Nanami feeling wrong-footed - it’s the near wrist thick monster currently hanging between them. It’s red and visibly erect, veins engorged along its length, a malformed knot at its base, a wet sheen coating the bulbous head that looked comically large against Gojo’s elegant beauty. It’s the type of cock you would see in adult videos, cocks that could claim they would fuck right into your womb and get you pregnant.
“Do you like what you see, Sensei?” Gojo asks, eager. He stops holding Nanami down, choosing to push Nanami’s thighs up, dragging his hot length over Nanami’s pelvis, his shocking weight nudging against Nanami’s cock and making it look tiny in comparison.
“I - ” Nanami is too stunned to speak.
Gojo gives a slow roll of his hips, cock sliding over Nanami’s pelvis, frotting over Nanami’s cock until the sensation begins to feel good and Nanami starts to get hard himself. It makes it worse because Nanami has always been the type to get wet and now his precum smooths the way for Gojo who gets really into it, hyper-focused on where his cock covers Nanami’s.
“Cute, Sensei is so cute,” Gojo mutters, moaning as his hips jut faster. “I can cover you up, Sensei, you’re so helpless under me.”
Nanami can’t help but shiver, a small moan catching in his throat. It feels really good now, Nanami properly aroused, the shock of it all and the overwhelming pheremones saturating the air making his head fuzzy. His glands are expressing and his cunt is dripping. Gojo isn’t unaffected - to Nanami’s wide-eyed shock, the man seems to grow, the veins along the shaft swelling, pulsing in tandem with Gojo’s erratic heartbeat.
Dizziness and arousal has Nanami complacently going when Gojo moves him, hitching Nanami’s hips up and leaning forward to get a better angle.
“E-enough,” Nanami tries to protest but the word feels foreign. “I’m ready - inside - ”
Gojo laughs, meanly. “Are you a pain-slut, sensei? I’d tear you apart if I went inside now. Or are you into that?”
Nanami definitely isn’t but he’s far less into engaging in sexual acts with his student. It’s destroying him with each thrust of Gojo’s cock, the pleasure growing in Nanami and making him realize he’s about to cum.
“I dreamed of this, Sensei,” Gojo tells him. “When I touched myself for the first time, I was thinking of you. You and your pretty breasts. Suguru knew, he used to tease me all the time. Let me push his tits together and pretend it was you.”
“Stop it,” Nanami hisses, hand grabbing Gojo’s wrist and squeezing tight to try to keep his composure. “Don’t tell me what you both did.”
“Jealous?” Gojo laughs, mocking and a touch too wild to sound anything but crazy. “I’m a good alpha, Ken-chan. I can take care of you both. Why don’t we start here?”
Nanami gasps, instinctively arching away when Gojo pushes two fingers right into him. They barely press against his hole for a moment, Nanami’s own arousal providing a small gape for them to slide into, aided by the copious slick Nanami is now releasing.
“Don’t,” Nanami says, too out of sorts to remember he didn’t want to say words like ‘don’t’ and ‘stop’.
“Don’t, what?” Gojo asks, kissing over Nanami’s breast, teeth snagging on a snipple. “Finger your pussy, Sensei?”
Nanami jolts, trying to curl into himself as Gojo’s fingers drag over his swollen insides, callously searching. By accident they brush against his sensitive spot, making Nanami involuntarily moan. Belatedly, Nanami slams a hand over his mouth, looking up wide-eyed at Gojo.
The alpha instantly realizes what he's done, giggling mockingly. Nanami’s thighs are shoved further apart, Gojo dragging a third finger around Nanami’s stretched hole.
“Wait - ah!” Nanami arches, crying out when the finger is unceremoniously shoved in. Gojo’s in a hurry now, mouthing on Nanami’s breast as he stretches his fingers in Nanami, pumping them in and out furiously, the wet squelch filling up the room. Every other drag inadvertently hits his sweet spot and the confusion of pain-pleasure has Nanami gasping desperately.
“You sound so cute, Sensei,” Gojo moans, nuzzling Nanami’s breast, kissing his way down it’s side and fitting his fast right between his rib and the bed, nose sniffing up to Nanami’s sweaty underbreast. “You smell so good. You’re perfect, perfect,” he mumbles, voice thick and needy.
“J-just, hurry,” Nanami tries to demand, but his voice cuts off into a whine. It hurts but feels so good. The pleasure is dripping through his body, like a thick syrup. He’s getting wetter and wetter and at some point he glances down and realizes Gojo has four fingers in him.
“You’re going to feel so good clenching on my knot,” Gojo praises, kissing back up to a nipple. His hips are gyrating in the air, his heavy cock swinging and forcing Nanami to close his eyes to avoid looking. A terrible mistake because Gojo growls, the steady pace of his fingers changing to something faster and harder. “Don’t look away!”
Nanami writhes, legs pushing up and dragging over the mattress to roll his hips into the pleasure, unconsciously.
“Fuck,” Gojo whispers, the ending hitch breaking off into another giggle. “I’m at my limit, Sensei. You’re ready, aren’t you? Even if you aren’t, you’ll make space for me, I know.”
Gojo withdraws his fingers, knuckles scraping against Nanami’s swollen walls, yanking them out and rubbing them off on Nanami’s inner thighs, a useless endeavour because Nanami’s wet enough and Gojo had been forceful enough that his juices have ended up coating his skin. He can’t remember the last time he was so wet outside of a heat nor can he remember the last time his pussy throbbed so needily. He aches from the ramming of Gojo’s careless fingering, but the need to be filled edges out the pain.
“Remember to scream my name,” Gojo tells Nanami, hitching Nanami’s legs over his shoulders. His eyes are a wild, electric blue and mimicking his high from his break a few hours ago.
“Go - ” Nanami gets as far as saying, some snap lucid thought rearing its ugly head to remind him he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t -
Gojo lines up to the weeping gape of Nanami’s cunt and stuffs his cock in one brutal thrust.
For a moment, Nanami’s senses go white. He can’t feel anything for what feels like an eternity and then on his next blink the thundering pain shoots through his entire pelvis. It’s too big not to hurt but Nanami is too aroused to not feel a primal throb of pleasure. In the scant few breaths it takes for Gojo to bully inside, Nanami arches up, eyes rolling backwards, accepting the way his hole gives way under Gojo’s demanding press. He spasms and lets out a breathless scream - cumming hard.
“There you go,” Gojo coos somewhere above Nanami’s head. It’s difficult to discern the words with the white noise in his ear but Nanami can feel the sentiment. “That was so hot, Sensei. You came just because you like my cock so much? Then I’ll give it all to you.”
Nanami makes an unbecoming noise, somewhere between a moan and a protest as Gojo keeps going, cock reaching further than his spindly fingers could. Fresh off an orgasm, he’s too sensitive to bear the new type of ache, instinctively pushing and clawing at Gojo’s chest.
“W-wait,” Nanami manages to get out. For his troubles Gojo grabs his wrists and slams them to the bed by his head, leaning in until Nanami’s bent legs are nearly folding him in half.
“Done waiting,” Gojo hisses, snapping his hips and rutting his cock inside in one clean thrust. “You’re taking me all in, like a good bitch. Your body’s already accepted me, Kento-sensei.”
Gojo’s knot is pressing into Nanami now. It’s so big, Nanami can’t breathe. There is no way it will fit, it’s far, far too big.
“Please,” Nanami sobs, unable to help himself, scared at the way Gojo isn’t stopping, rubbing his cock in and around as if to wedge the knot in by force. “Please - please, Satoru - wait - ah!”
A potent burst of alpha scent overtakes the room and Nanami feels Gojo’s cock kick inside him, the knot slipping in and swelling to its final girth. It pops, filling Nanami with hot ropes of cum as Gojo growls in pleasure, teeth sinking into the meat of Nanami’s shoulder, fangs nicking the scarred bite of his last alpha, pinning Nanami completely and forcing him to accept everything Gojo is giving him.
Nanami is being devoured. There is no other way to explain the sensation of being so overwhelmed. He can’t even scream. Between the rape of his knot and the white-sharp pain of fangs skinking into his skin, Nanami doesn’t know what hurts more. Instinctively, he whimpers, letting his bladder go and pissing all over himself.
“Ah, yes, Sensei,” Gojo moans, voice slurred around the mouthful of flesh, small pleased rumblings echoing his sentiment. He pulls his fangs out after a loud moan, but Nanami can still feel him cumming in him. “That’s it, such a good omega. I’m your alpha now.”
Nanami can’t help it - the whimpers start anew and the tears that had been gathering pour steadily down his face until he’s crying helplessly.
Gojo coos and rumbles, trying to bring comfort but just making it worse. “Shh,” Gojo kisses up and down Nanami’s neck, sticky blood left in his wake. “None of that. You’re going to feel so good, Sensei. I’ll treat you so right.”
Gojo begins to gyrate and Nanami’s tears cut off into a cry as his body locks up, broken hole tightening against Gojo’s knot at the unexpected sensation. Gojo’s sheer size has him pressing into Nanami’s sweet spot and his motions make his knot press into it incessantly. Nanami’s chest heaves as confusing pain-pleasure runs through his nerves, nails clawing down Gojo’s back when he feels another sensation double in - a sore throb of Gojo’s cock kissing his cervix.
“By the end of this rut, you’ll be pregnant, Sensei,” Gojo promises, laughing, lips pressing all over Nanami’s face. He kisses Nanami, grabbing his jaw so Nanami can’t escape, bloody tongue entering into Nanami’s mouth and ravaging it with no care for finesse. He only breaks away to kiss up Nanami’s salty tears, hands switching from holding Nanami’s wrists to sliding them up and intertwining their fingers. “We’ll be together, forever.” Then he licks down, rouge tongue purposefully lapping up Nanami’s blood with his saliva, purposefully covering the only bite Nanami had allowed on his body until now.
Nanami chokes out a wet sound, body shaking as the building pleasure overtakes him, another orgasm ripping through him. He trembles, whimpering through an open mouth, salvia and blood dripping down the corner of his lips as he loses himself to the painful orgasm. His pussy tries to clamp down on the intrusion inside him, to milk Gojo’s cock, but he’s so big and Nanami’s stretched so thin.
Gojo moans all the same, panting into Nanami’s and body shuddering through his own pleasure taken from Nanami’s body. “You’re so good to me,” Gojo praises.
Gojo lets go of one hand, slowly raising himself up from Nanami’s lax body, fingers trailing down the mess on Nanami’s abdomen until it pauses just below Nanami’s stomach. Right over his womb. “I’m right here, Sensei,” Gojo whispers, sounding reverent and high as he massages the tender skin.
Nanami skin is sensitive and his tummy clenches as he shivers. He’s still spasming around Gojo’s knot, the overwhelming orgasm giving way to overstimulated sensation. The pressure on his sweet spot is burdensome now and Nanami just wants to put his head into his pillow and rest.
Instead his body is rocked, Gojo playfully thrusting his hips as if to test the give of his still swollen knot. It makes white stars burst in his vision, toes curling and body jerking as the small thrust pushes Nanami’s straining cunt to its limit, making him whine in pain.
“Don’t worry, Sensei,” Gojo cooes, grabbing Nanami’s leg and pressing kisses into Nanami’s calf. His other hand goes back up to Nanami’s throat, fingers pressing into the bloody bite that has encroached over Yu’s mating bite. “By the time this is over, we’ll be a perfect fit for each other.”
Nanami closes his eyes and accepts his fate. His compliance pushes Gojo into the final throes of his rut, his reason leaving him at the successful conquest of a prime omega.
The entire experience is one Nanami will desperately try to forget, once over. But the aspect he’ll try and fail to erase the most is the moment Gojo’s tired mind finally broke and he began crying into Nanami’s neck calling out for Geto.
-
“I didn’t take you for the type to run.”
Nanami sighs, shoulders slumping as he drops the duffle bag on the bed he’d been using for the past two years. He has his own apartment, one he is retreating to now, but the school’s dorms had been a good in-between for the days he couldn’t be bothered to make the trek back to the city proper. It’d allowed easy access for the teens as well, many random Saturday mornings starting with Gojo slamming back the sliding door and dragging into a sleepy Geto and Ieiri behind him to invade Nanami’s space.
Each time Nanami walks into the room now, he’s hit with the potent memory of Gojo fucking him unconscious. He can’t live with the consequences of what he’s done, so he does what he does best - run.
Now it’s just Ieiri, looking exhausted herself. She’d kept a good front on, appearing unbothered by the disappearance of Geto and Gojo’s subsequent breakdown, but Nanami can see the weight of it in the hunch of her back and the bags under her eyes. He’d hoped to protect them from the realities of the cruel world for longer than just seventeen.
“I’ve done it before,” he easily admits to her. Ieiri doesn’t bother asking for permission, crossing the threshold and sitting down beside him. Any other day Nanami would have scolded her, had scolded her and the boys, for lack of propriety. You don’t sit on a teacher’s bed, after all.
Except Nanami has just finished doing something considerably worse. So he winces, paranoid that even after his marathon cleaning, the scent of debauchery still remains.
“When your mate died?” she asks, tactlessly.
Nanami wants to flinch, but there is no energy left. For the past several days he’s been intimately reminded of Yu and his absence, like a bruise that’s been squeezed from raw pain to numbness. The side of his throat throbs, a temporary bite cruelly overlaying Yu’s bite. If Nanami were feeling more charitable and patient, he would have brushed it off as a child’s temper tantrum and instinctive need to possess. But he’s run out of patience. Gojo trying to claim him in the throes of rut when both of them were thinking of their mates was painful. It felt like a violation of trust and Nanami had beaten it into his psyche over the past few days that he was not allowed to get mad about it. He’d been violating Gojo’s trust since the moment he agreed to fall into bed with his student.
“Yes,” he answers, swallowing. “I dropped out of Jujutsu Tech. Ran all the way to Hakodate to live with my great-aunt. Finished school there, went to university, got a job and tried to move on.”
“But you came back.”
“I came back,” he agrees, nodding down to his duffle bag. For a moment, Nanami struggles to gather his thoughts, to put the life-changing decision into perspective in a way that doesn’t make him seem more pathetic than he already is. Then he realizes it’s a losing battle. “Yu died as a hero. He wanted to make the world a better place. Even years after I ran, the guilt never left. I had the power to carry on his will and legacy, but I chose not to.”
Ieiri whistles, looking distinctly unimpressed. “That is a terrible way to emotionally gaslight yourself, Sensei. You shouldn’t try to chase the shadow of a dead man.”
“You are correct, of course.”
“Of course.”
Nanami cracks a small smile. “I tried to do right by Yu’s memory. I thought that if I could take up teaching, I could spare students from the same fate we both suffered. And yet.”
Ieiri’s hands scrunch the sheet covers as she balls her hands into fists. She’s always been the most calm out of Nanami’s three students. But even Nanami knows this summer has irrevocably changed her. And he feels terrible he could not stop it.
“You aren’t god, Sensei. You couldn’t have seen any of this coming.”
“Perhaps not, but I could have been there for Gojo and Geto, after.”
“That isn’t how depression and mental unwellness works, Sensei,” she sighs, but Nanami knows she is thinking of it too. “There isn’t much we could have done for either of them, unless they wanted our help.”
Nanami keeps quiet. He doesn’t want Ieiri to carry the same guilt-ladden burden he does. Ieiri is a teenager. Nanami is the adult. He should have reached out. He couldn’t be there the week Gojo and Geto were taken to their mental and physical limit. He couldn’t be there the day Geto snapped and massacred a village. He couldn’t be there the day Gojo lost control of himself and succumbed to his own hurt.
But could have been there in the days after. He knows something went wrong more than just Fushigiro Toji killing Gojo and the Riko girl. Neither Gojo or Geto were the same after they came out of the building carrying a young girl’s corpse. Nanami tried to give them time to heal - choosing to take on more missions himself if it could give the two teenagers a break. But that backfired, Nanami coming back to the fact that the higher-ups had separated Gojo and Geto, sending them off on missions on their own, both now classified as special-grade sorcerers. Nanami couldn’t even stop them, both now outranking him. Geto seemed to retreat into the shell of himself while Gojo expunged himself outwards, like he didn’t dare to stay in his own mind for longer than a few minutes.
Nanami had plans. He was going to take all three of his students on a trip to Denmark. Treat it like a cultural exchange program - show them how Europe chose to tackle exorcising and curse containment. Gojo would love the food, Ieiri the cigarettes, Geto the architecture.
And now Nanami is packing a bag and running again.
“Will you miss us, Nanami sensei?” Ieiri asks, realizing Nanami isn’t going to acknowledge the blame-free pass she was offering him.
“I will,” he assures. “It - I am not going away, completely. I will remain on retainer to continue exorcisms as needed. But I am no longer fit to call myself a teacher.”
Ieiri bites her lip against the protest Nanami can see on her face. Her mouth opens and closes several times, like there is something she wishes to say, but can’t figure out how to.
“Sensei, I’m so - ”
“Life is unpredictable, Shoko,” Nanami cuts her off, unwilling - unable - to hear what he thinks she might say. Not when the wound is so raw. “The choices we make in the face of tough situations are our own. Bearing the consequences is natural.”
That’s not entirely true, but Nanami would do anything in his power to take the look of guilt off Ieiri’s face. Nanami only feels marginally worse at the defeat in her nod. Ieiri has never been the type to go against the grain or fight particularly hard about a feeling or point. But she has never looked so untethered, like she could not be bothered to acknowledge what was happening in the world in front of her.
“Nanami-sen - ah, no, Nanami-kun,” she says instead. Nanami doesn’t bother fighting her on the informality of it. “Gojo is going to be devastated. That’s two omegas that have run away from him in the span of a month.”
Nanami grimaces. “No,” he whispers, the bitter taste of bile lingering at the back of his mouth. He’s washed and scrubbed his mouth for nearly an hour this morning but it changes nothing. “I’ve been assigned - I’ll be back, for his ruts.”
Ieiri freezes. Nanami can’t look at her but he knows she isn’t looking at him either. “That’s rape.”
Nanami is going to throw up again.
“I don’t - I gave Gojo the choice - I can’t change the fact that it’s under duress but, he needs a partner or he will kill someone or himself - ”
“Sensei,” she says, already forgetting her earlier address. “Not Gojo. You. They’re pushing this all on you. You can’t say no.”
No, he can’t.
“It’s fine,” he tells her, and by that confirming it for himself.
“It’s not - sensei - this is my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed that on you that day - ”
“Drop it,” he says, sharply. Ieiri flinches and Nanami immediately feels terrible. “My apologies,” Nanami whispers, voice pained when he continues, “but, please, Shoko. Please, do not bring it up again. It won’t do anyone any good to dwell on the what-ifs.”
She turns her head to the side, as if that will hide the sour scent of her upset. “I won’t.”
“Thank you.” Nanami’s hand pauses in the air, a handful of inches away from her shoulder. He takes his hand back and picks up his duffle bag instead. “I’ve left my number by the dorm phone. Call me if you need anything. I mean it, Shoko.”
Ieiri waves him away, still not looking at him.
Nanami wishes he could stop being a hypocrite. He had lamented on all the things he should have done to support Gojo and Geto before they broke. And now he’s leaving Ieiri to stew in her misplaced guilt and handle the mess all on her own.
But Nanami has always been a pathetic man, selfish and poorly empathetic. So he turns around and walks out the door.