Megumi is starting to get it, starting to really understand what heats are like.
He’s so full he can barely breathe. He’s lightheaded and dizzy—every touch, every movement shoots a jolt of electricity straight to his dick. He’s sitting on top of Sukuna, split open and stretched impossibly around his cock, eyes rolled to the back of his head. He’s trying his best to bounce, to move, to do something, but his body feels like liquid and his mind isn’t really there, isn’t really here.
Sukuna is saying something—Sukuna is always saying something, but Megumi can’t really hear him, can’t really get his brain to focus long enough to understand any of it.
Sukuna was right: all he’s good for is taking. Taking whatever he gives him—his cock, his fingers, or a hand around his throat. His head is too foggy with heat to make decisions on his own.
Besides, it feels good. It’s a relief to let someone else, to let Sukuna make all the decisions for him.
It’s one thing if Megumi fucks up.
Another if someone else fucks it up for him.
Sukuna hums, a hand on Fushiguro’s cheek, a thumb between his lips as the omega tries to ride him, little frantic motions and filthy squelching. There’s a pillow cushioned between him and the wall, and Fushiguro is sitting right in his lap.
“You really were born for this, huh?” Sukuna groans, bringing his fingers down to where they’re connected, rubbing at his slick-damp taint. Fushiguro’s walls spasm around him, still so tight after being knotted over and over and over. “You take to it like a fucking natural.”
Fushiguro is flushed a beautiful shade of pink, eyes glossy. Sukuna isn’t sure he’s even registering a word he’s saying.
It’s not like it matters, really.
Sukuna grins, wide and cruel, then slaps Fushiguro on the ass. Fushiguro chokes out a sob and keels over. Sukuna yanks on the back of his head to force his omega upright, licking a stripe up the side of his neck. He’ll probably never get enough of Fushiguro’s taste—back when he was human, back when he had a body of his own, Sukuna bedded plenty of omegas, but none ever tasted like Fushiguro—ever tasted as good as Fushiguro. He knows that for sure now.
“If only you were better at it.”
It’s day three of Fushiguro’s second heat; the omega spent most of day one and all of day two completely out of it—nothing more than a pliant, responsive plaything—letting Sukuna toy with his body as he wished, letting Sukuna make him feel good.
From the way Fushiguro’s scent is starting to ease up, Sukuna is certain that his heat will break soon, and he’ll have his first real moment of lucidity since the first day of his heat. One last knotting will do the trick, so Sukuna wants to take advantage of this headspace, wants to indulge in the effortless submission that comes from his heat just a little more.
Sukuna likes the omega the most when he’s arrogant, when he’s reckless and confident, when he exceeds any and all of Sukuna’s expectations—when he’s himself—but there is something to be said about how he is when he’s in the middle of his heat. Heavy eyelids, pliant limbs, and soft lips. Ruined and sullied beyond all repair. There’s sweat and cum pooled in the hard ridges of his abs, his faint happy trail sweat-damp; it makes Sukuna want to see just how far his compliance really goes, test just how much a slave to biology Fushiguro is right now.
There’s an irresistible sort of glory to it: seeing someone so precious, someone with so much potential so utterly debased, frantically chasing his own pleasure like it’s all that matters—because it’s all that matters.
“C’mon, shaman. Show me what you’re really capable of, won’t you?”
Sukuna enunciates the last two words with two sharp, upward thrusts. Fushiguro’s head tilts back, drool slipping down the side of his chin, the whites of his eyes showing; his lips part, but no sound comes out.
Sukuna doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. He grins, cupping the side of Fushiguro’s face again and pushing his thumb past his lips. The omega’s mouth is lax, and his lips don’t close around the finger; he only lets out a soft, needy whine, green eyes dark and glossy, pupils ridiculously wide. Sukuna runs the pad of his thumb along Fushiguro’s molars then to his tongue, rubbing circles before pressing down.
He adores how little resistance there is, adores how Fushiguro tries to continue riding him, tries to pick up the pace again—but utterly fails. In return, Sukuna decides to take over: he grips Fushiguro’s ass with one hand, pulls his cheeks apart, and starts fucking him just like this. His knees are bent, feet flat to the bed to drive more power into his thrusts. Gravity does most of the work; for the omega, there is nowhere to go but down, nothing to do but let Sukuna’s cock bully in and out of his abused asshole, cheeks spread apart by rough hands.
“Don’t think I’m gonna let you off the hook just quite yet,” he warns, groaning with each thrust, feeling his knot start to form inside Fushiguro, snug inside him, fucking him loose.
Soon, Fushiguro gasps and his walls spasm, tight as a vice around his cock—it takes Sukuna a moment to register that Fushiguro just came, his cock spurting white and messy over their stomachs. The thought of it only spurs him on, only sparks him to fuck him harder, fuck him till he’s bruised and sobbing.
There’s nothing like fucking an omega through one orgasm and straight into another.
“Su—guhh—ahh—” Fushiguro is panting, crying, whimpering. His poor cock is starting to fill up again, red and overused. He’s too weak to do anything more than sit miserably and take it, fucked-out and hanging on his knot. Sukuna almost wants to take mercy on him.
He doesn’t, though. Not in the slightest.
The King of Curses has never been one for restraint.
Megumi’s head clears a little later.
The first thing he notices is that he’s still sitting on Sukuna’s cock, a hand on his back keeping him upright. Then, he notices that the knot inside him is deflating. Sukuna is lazily stroking his side, palm cool against his hip.
“There you are,” the curse drawls, sending shudders down Megumi’s spine. “Welcome back.”
Megumi looks at the window and sees that the sun isn’t out anymore, but he isn’t entirely sure what that means; he isn’t even quite sure what day of his heat it is. But from what he remembers from the end of his last heat, if he’s lucid, it must mean that his heat is almost over.
“Nnh,” Megumi chokes out once he finds the words, voice weak and strained. “Can you pull out now?”
Sukuna raises a brow, then a wicked, savage sort of grin pulls on his lips. Dark eyes drop to where they’re connected, staring at the mess the omega’s made.
“You’re on top of me.” Sukuna’s hand, the one that was pressed flat to Megumi’s lower back, slides down to his ass. The curse’s fingertips dig into Megumi’s soft flesh, squeezing harshly as he taunts, “Why don’t you try lifting yourself off?”
Megumi clenches his teeth, hears himself growl quietly. He doesn’t know if he can. He can barely feel his lower body, numbed out by heat and pain and the feeling of being fucked full, fucked like he was made to be fucked—
Shit. Megumi’s head might not be as clear as he thought. He bites his lip and tries to ground himself, tries to regain feeling in his thighs, tries to stop thinking about how much he would rather be in full heat rather than this half-aware state of being. The more he thinks about this—the idiotic arrangement he and Sukuna and Itadori have—the more Megumi feels like he’s making a mistake. So he doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about anything.
Megumi bites his lip and forces himself to focus. He tips his body forward, slow and careful, making sure not to jostle around too much, and tangles his hands in the sheets for leverage. He starts to lift himself up off Sukuna’s cock, and a breathy gasp flutters from the back of his throat when the swollen knot pops out. His eyes shut, and his mouth falls open as he feels his walls squeeze around Sukuna; it’s almost as if his body doesn’t quite want to let his alpha go. Somehow, though, he manages to hoist himself up until just the head is inside of him, catching at his rim.
He’s panting, and he can see his sweat dripping onto Sukuna’s chest, so he decides to take a quick break. His thighs ache, his arms are shaking, and he feels like he’s being split open, feels like he isn’t even whole anymore—but he doesn’t know if he could handle being stimulated any more than he already has.
Megumi peeks open an eye only to see that Sukuna that isn’t even trying to hide his amusement, laughing quietly to himself. Fucking bastard. “Fuck—ngh—off.”
Sukuna tilts his head to the side, an unreadable expression on his face. His hands are steady on Megumi’s slim waist, just above the pretty curve of his hips. “Do you need some help?”
Megumi didn’t know it was possible for something to sound so condescending.
He snarls in response, and his stubborn need to prove himself capable, to prove himself necessary, to not be a burden to others, to get things done on his own like he always has because he’s never really had any other choice—that unrelenting insecurity starts to kick into overdrive. With the last bits of strength he has left, he pulls himself completely up until Sukuna’s fat cockhead slips out of him. He whimpers as loads of cum start to gush out of him, joining the sopping mess of slick all around them. His arms give out, and he decides to fall backward onto the sheets instead of forward onto Sukuna. His back is flat to the bed, legs still splayed around Sukuna’s thighs, his gaping hole fluttering weakly around nothing.
Sukuna really did a number on him, huh?
“Good boy,” Sukuna hums, voice gravelly and rough, eyes dark and hungry as he gets up onto his knees to hover on top of Megumi, prying his legs apart and creating a space for himself between them. “I knew you could do it.”
The praise leaves Megumi a little lightheaded, heart beating a little faster, but he tries not to think about it.
“Fuck you,” he spits out, closing his eyes and covering the top half of his face with his hand. “You could’ve helped.”
“Why would I? You looked adorable, trying so hard to do it all by yourself.”
Shit. Megumi hears himself let out another whimper when more liquid gushes out of his hole, soiling the sheets. Impulsively, he brings two fingers down there to plug himself back up, wincing at how sloppy-wet and loose he is down there.
“Oh, baby,” Sukuna mutters. He sounds out of breath, and Megumi’s hand flies off his face to look at him.
“I’m not your—” Megumi bites his tongue. Even just saying it out loud it is too much for him to handle.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” Sukuna asks, taking Megumi’s chin between his thumb and his curled index finger to remind Megumi of who exactly is in control right now.
He looks like he wants to eat Megumi alive, and Megumi is fucking terrified because he just might let him. Megumi’s face heats up, realizing how precarious the situation is right now: his stupid cock is hard again, blood-red and leaking all over his stomach, and he’s plugged himself back up with two fingers, desperately clenching around them because two doesn’t even feel like enough to keep everything from flooding out.
Just the thought of it—how slutty he must look right now, stuffed with his own fingers just to keep himself from making even more of a mess—it’s humiliating, embarrassing, and disgustingly hot.
Megumi makes a show of pressing his lips together, staring back at Sukuna defiantly.
Sukuna doesn’t have much of a scent, Megumi’s noticed. Itadori’s scent is citrusy but also a little musky; it reminds Megumi of the body spray all the boys used in middle school. Somehow, none of that is present when Sukuna’s in control. Megumi isn’t sure if Sukuna’s even aware of it, but he smells faintly of burned incense, the stuff burned in shrines.
It isn’t overpowering like Megumi would expect—it’s smooth and pleasant. Comforting, almost.
Because of how muted Sukuna’s scent normally is, Megumi jolts when he smells smoke and sandalwood thick and heavy in his nose. He feels his own scent glands start to swell in response, and before he’s even realized it, his head has turned to the side to bare his neck, already littered with scrapes and love-bites. He squeezes his eyes shut in shame—it’s like his body has sensed that his alpha is displeased and is trying to make up for it tenfold.
“You seem to be misunderstanding something, shaman,” Sukuna chides, his breath scorching hot against Megumi’s neck. Then Sukuna grabs his wrist—the one down below—yanks his fingers away from his hole, and quickly replaces them with a few of his own before anything can drip out. Megumi can’t tell how many fingers; all he knows is that Sukuna is pushing them much deeper than necessary, his knuckles snagging at the swollen rim. He sobs wetly, and his eyes burst wide open, stinging tears blurring his vision.
Too much—too much—
But that doesn’t matter to Sukuna. Megumi knows that better than anything. Whether or not he thinks he can handle it—it doesn’t matter. None of what he wants or can handle matters, because Sukuna will make him take it anyway.
It’s nice having it—the burden of choice and the responsibility that comes with it—lifted off your shoulders. It’s a relief to let go, give in to nature.
“I own you,” Sukuna growls. “Every inch of you is mine. You’re whatever I want you to be. Whatever I allow you to be.”
And then they’re kissing—and then Sukuna is devouring him whole. He slides his tongue along the roof of Megumi’s mouth, running it along his teeth, sucking and biting at his puffy lips—wet, hot, and depraved.
Sukuna’s cock is hard against the side of his thigh, and Megumi can’t help but think about how he wants it back inside him.
“Mmmh, mmmh,” Megumi hears himself moan, kissing back the best he knows how, breathing in Sukuna’s deep, earthy fragrance of sandalwood through his nose. He’s dizzy from it, dizzy and drooling.
But in the midst of the kiss, Sukuna’s fingers start to shift, start to fuck him for real. Megumi only gasps, powerless to stop it. He’s mortified—the obscene, wet squelching noises are humiliating enough to make his jaw go slack, inadvertently allowing Sukuna to take full advantage of his shock and kiss him however he likes—this time, that means hard enough to bruise.
“Alpha—ahh. Sto—mmph—” Megumi is mumbling, gasping, whimpering. He can’t stop squirming, writhing under Sukuna’s heavy weight. He’s taller than Sukuna—Itadori, really—but Itadori’s always been freakishly built for a teenager, eighty kilograms of pure, solid muscle. And with Sukuna’s inhuman strength added on to that, Megumi doesn’t stand a chance, pinned to the bed, limbs like jelly.
Sukuna pulls back, dragging Megumi’s bottom lip between his teeth, as far as his flesh can stretch before it starts to hurt. His grin is vicious as he continues to play with Megumi’s used hole.
“Look at you. God, you were fucking made for this,” he groans, fucking Megumi slow and deep with just his fingers. “Maybe you should just give up on being a shaman and become mine, hm? Would you like that?”
“Shut up,” Megumi cries, holding onto the bed sheets for dear life. He feels like he’ll die if this doesn’t stop, feels like he’ll die if this does stop. The heat is starting to sink back into his head, and Megumi isn’t sure if he wants to fight it off or not—isn’t sure if he wants to find some way to ground himself or if he just wants to let his omega fully take over. To not have to think, to not have to make any decisions—
“Are you telling me what to do, omega?” Sukuna curls his cruel, unforgiving fingers toward Megumi’s belly, and Megumi feels white-hot pleasure shoot through his body—sharp and almost painful—tears scorching his cheeks at the overstimulation.
“Answer me,” orders Sukuna, his free hand finding Megumi’s cock, fingers wrapping around the base and slowly starting to jerk him off in tandem with the fingers inside him, jabbing at his prostate.
Megumi is gasping, he can’t find the words he wanted to say before, can’t think of anything but how this is too much, how this feels too good. He doesn’t even know if Sukuna’s stopped fucking him at any point. He doesn’t even know what day it is.
“Please,” he hears himself breathe out. He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, doesn’t know how they got here, doesn’t know how he’s let Sukuna ruin him as much as he has. “Please, ahh, please.”
All he knows is that it’s far too late for take-backs.
The gross, wet, schlicking noises of Sukuna’s hand pumping away Megumi’s cock; Sukuna’s low, amused chuckles; and the gasps that are coming out of his own mouth, a voice that doesn’t even sound like his—
“Just like that. Just like that.”
Megumi sobs when he comes, weak and choked-out. It feels more like a necessity, something that he had to get over with rather than something he wanted. It feels like it goes on forever, feels like it won’t stop, but maybe that’s because Sukuna is an asshole who continues to touch him, fingers dragging along his walls in a repetitive motion, his other hand making sure his cock’s been milked dry.
It’s minutes, hours, or maybe just seconds until Sukuna finally takes his hands off him, removing his hand from his cock and pulling his fingers out from his hole. Megumi is too fucked-out to move—his body limp, sweaty, pliant, and weakly twitching at the aftershocks.
“You’re a jackass,” Megumi spits out miserably, wincing when he realizes that his efforts to keep himself from making even more of a mess backfired in the worst way imaginable. His asshole is winking around nothing, cum oozing onto the sheets, his cock spent and abs exhausted from wringing out an unwanted orgasm. His chest is warm, blood racing throughout his body.
“What did you expect?” Sukuna laughs dismissively, pinching one of Megumi’s nipples, fingernails digging into the swollen, sensitive pink buds. Pain blooms under his skin; it’s numbing and electrifying all at once. “Fingering yourself like that, what was I supposed to do?”
Sukuna shuts him up with sharp pinches to both his nipples, throbbing and oversensitive. “Did you want to give me a show? Is that why you’re so upset?”
Megumi doesn’t trust his voice to come out properly, so instead he glares at the curse, tears in the corners of his eyes.
Sukuna grins, faint notes of smoke and earth peaking as he rolls Megumi’s nipples between his fingertips, painfully gentle this time, almost apologetically. “Don’t look at me like that, angel,” he warns, leaning down to lick away some of Megumi’s tears, voice low and rumbling. “You have no idea how pretty you are, huh? You’re gonna make me want to go again.”
“Please,” Megumi rasps out, frantically grabbing onto Sukuna’s upper arms and lightly pushing him away. He winces, remembering how he was gasping please just moments ago for different reasons. Oh, how far he’s fallen. “Give me a couple minutes, at least.”
His knuckles are bone-white, hands clutched around Sukuna’s arms, stark against the black markings circling his biceps.
Something seems to change, and an unreadable expression manifests on Sukuna’s face, blood-red eyes carefully studying him. Megumi holds his breath out of instinct, awaiting Sukuna’s response.
He shivers when Sukuna cups the side of his face, his touch tender and vigilant, and if it was anyone else touching him like this, Megumi would think that he was afraid of breaking him. It’s ironic, considering how the double-faced spectre has already broken him, already ruined him for anyone else.
“I’ll let you rest for now, shaman,” Sukuna utters, and in the blink of an eye, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping Megumi’s cum off his stomach with a towel. Megumi tries not to stare at his cock too much. God, he hates this.
Even outside of his heat, his libido has been all over the place since he presented—it’s probably the worst part about his second gender. Blockers help hide his scent, and Gojou can conveniently send everyone on faraway missions during his heats, however erratic they may be, so really, the biggest issue for Megumi is that he’s horny all the time and can’t do anything about it. Can’t do anything but rut against his pillows and finger himself, trying to remember what it felt like being stuffed full with Sukuna’s cock, only capable of wishing he had something thicker than his fingers, because no way in hell is he ordering sex toys with someone as nosy and infuriatingly omnipresent as Gojou around.
But once he manages to tear his eyes away from Sukuna’s dick, thick and veiny and fleshy-pink, the gravity of what just happened finally starts to sink in.
Sukuna actually is giving him a break. Sukuna actually listened to him.
The thing about Sukuna is that Megumi still doesn’t know where he stands with him. He doesn’t quite get what Sukuna sees in him. Everyone tells him that he has potential, and he’s just starting to believe it, but to have unwittingly gained the interest of Ryoumen Sukuna, the legendary King of Curses—he has trouble fathoming it, fathoming being anything but a hole for Sukuna to fuck and use.
Almost everyone in Megumi’s life has left him in one way or another: his mom, his dad, Tsumiki, and even Itadori for a time. Everyone important, except for Gojou, really.
Megumi has known Gojou for two-thirds of his life, through all the good and all the bad, and the one thing he knows for sure is real is that, behind the blindfold, bandages, sunglasses, or whatever mask he decides on for the day, Gojou Satoru is not nearly as infallible as he seems—he might carry the whole world on his shoulders without even breaking a sweat, but a burden like that is still too heavy for one person to bear.
Gojou took care of him throughout most of his childhood and adolescence, but always in an absent way, a cold, detached, yet continuous sort of guardianship. He was always there—but not really. He never had the luxury to always really be there, even if he wanted to.
And after all that happened with Getou Suguru last year—the wounds, they’re all still there and bleeding. Bleeding reminders that someone like him must do what needs to be done. Reminders that someone as strong as him does not have the luxury to be selfish.
Gojou’s a pain, but he never does anything out of pure self-interest.
Ryoumen Sukuna does everything out of self-interest—Megumi just happens to benefit from it, his interest.
Ryoumen Sukuna does everything out of self-interest and self-interest alone—that’s the type of curse he is and that’s the type of human he was, Megumi is sure of it.
He knows the type.
The type who leaves, who doesn’t bother to stay long enough to see what gender his kid is. The type who sells him for quick cash. The type who leaves his six-year old kid to fend for himself.
The type who lives for himself and no one else.
Megumi knows the type and he knows it well—knows to never become someone like that—
Which is why he doesn’t understand why Sukuna returns to the bed with a water bottle and a granola bar in hand.
“Drink,” he says, offering the water bottle over to Megumi.
With much effort, Megumi lifts himself up onto his elbows, but he can only stare at Sukuna, shell-shocked and wide-eyed.
Sukuna does everything out of self-interest; he’s helping Megumi through his heats because he wants to. Because he wants something to fuck. And Megumi is letting him because he’s a male omega, the first in hundreds of years, a rarity, a prize; because he knows that he’ll die if someone doesn’t fuck him through his heat; because no one alive has ever fucked a male omega except for Sukuna; because any other alpha would’ve already claimed him and marked him for life.
Because Sukuna is right here. Because Sukuna is willing. Because Sukuna can control himself.
Because—it feels good.
Mutual gain. That’s all this is. Something that they both happen to benefit from.
Megumi isn’t deluded enough to convince himself that this arrangement is anything more, that he’s worth anything more, that Sukuna actually wants him for who he is.
“Tch,” Sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Do I have to feed you?”
Sukuna does everything out of self-interest, so Megumi doesn’t really get it. Doesn’t really get why Sukuna would bother to have him eat, would bother to scour through his things to find a granola bar and water. He doesn’t remember eating at any point during this heat or his last, and he isn’t particularly hungry or thirsty right now either.
“Why would you . . . ” he trails off, not knowing how to approach this.
There’s an irritated, disparaging look on Sukuna’s face, like Megumi’s just asked an astronomically stupid question. “Because humans consume food and water for energy, and you’re tired. I don’t want to have to wait forever for you to regain your strength,” he explains logically, as if what he’s saying makes any sense whatsoever, as if the reason behind his actions is something so obvious that it shouldn’t even need to be spelled out.
Self-interest. Sukuna doesn’t need to care about how tired Megumi is. From what Megumi does remember about his heats, he knows that Sukuna has no problem fucking him while he’s limp, or asleep, or even just fucked unconscious.
Self-interest. That’s what’s at Sukuna’s core; that’s what defines people—beings like him.
Megumi tries to work it out, tries to think of some reasonable explanation for this, but things refuse to add up. Sukuna is interested in him, both as an omega and as a shaman—that much is clear.
But this is an incongruence. This is an anomaly. This doesn’t make sense.
Then, Sukuna is repositioning himself on the bed, pulling Megumi out of his own head. The mattress sags under Sukuna’s knees, and a breath catches in Megumi’s throat, wet and sticky like cotton balls, when he realizes that Sukuna’s knees are on either side of his thighs, that Sukuna is a hairline away from sitting in his lap.
Everything else is forgotten.
“What are you . . . ”
Megumi’s eyes, heavy-lidded and droopy from exhaustion, fly open in panic when half of the granola bar is shoved past his lips, plastic wrapping still intact. He jerks his head to the side, coughing and batting away Sukuna’s hand and the spit-covered granola bar before it hits the back of his throat.
Of all the things that have been shoved into his mouth recently, Megumi would have to say that this would have to be the most unpleasant.
Sukuna’s brows knit together in confusion. He picks up the granola bar from where it fell onto the bed and stares at it apprehensively. “Is this not food? I’ve seen the Itadori brat inhale these.”
Megumi blinks once, twice, and then lets out an annoyed sigh. “You’re supposed to, ergh—just let me do it myself.” He snatches the granola bar out of Sukuna’s hand, takes an end of it between his teeth and rips it open. He uses one arm to hold himself up, elbow and forearm supporting his upper body weight, and uses the other to finish off the granola bar in a couple of bites and take a large swig of water. He might as well, if Sukuna is offering.
Through it all, the curse watches him silently, dark pink lashes thick and heavy.
Once he’s done, Megumi tosses the wrapper and the half-empty water bottle to the side, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shifts around uncomfortably. He feels a little bit better now, honestly.
He isn’t sure if he should say thank you or not—isn’t sure if that’s the sort of thing that’s okay between the two of them. He really doesn’t know what to say in general, so he ends up mumbling, “If you’re just gonna stare, you might as well clean me up.” He gestures at his stomach, his thighs, and well, his everything. But then he grimaces, remembering that Sukuna responds angrily whenever he tries to boss him around.
To his surprise, however, the curse doesn’t seem bothered at all. He hums absently, dragging his fingertips along the mess on Megumi’s stomach then parting his digits—just to make a show of it, just to mortify the omega even further. Translucent liquid stretches between his fingers, black nails coated with slick.
Megumi shudders, unable to take his eyes off Sukuna’s fingers.
“I like you like this,” he says, his free hand digging into the bed, digging into the space between Megumi’s chest and his upper arm. He brings his other hand up to Megumi’s lips for him to suck on; it’s a thing they do so often that it’s starting to feel like a ritual.
Megumi grimaces at the taste of his own release. He’s never been big on sweets in the first place, and the fact that his body produced this, mint and honey and cool on his tongue—it’s dirty and it’s intimate in ways unimaginable.
Sukuna pulls out once he’s had his fun, and a glob of spit stretches from Megumi’s bottom lip to Sukuna’s fingertips—Megumi feels his cock harden again, feels his hole oozing slick, demanding to be bred. He lets out a quiet whimper when Sukuna presses his soaked fingers back to his fluttering entrance, dipping them past his rim, fucking him with shallow, teasing motions and a mischievious grin.
Megumi knows that his couple minutes of rest are long over. But the thing is, he hadn’t expected Sukuna to even give him a break in the first place, let alone try to feed him with his own two hands.
Sukuna is always praising Megumi for exceeding expectations, for constantly surprising him—but maybe that goes both ways.
So, Megumi just tilts his head back with a soft, sweet sigh, and lets Sukuna play with his body however he wishes.
Sukuna’s earned his obedience, for once.
He spreads his legs open and pulls his thighs up to his chest in lieu of the thank you he never got to say.
“Shit,” Sukuna hisses out, sucking in a sharp breath.
Fushiguro isn’t even out of it right now—the omega’s eyes are heavy-lidded, a dark emerald green, and he’s gazing right into Sukuna’s eyes. He’s lucid, and he’s spreading his thighs for Sukuna, body folded in half, legs making a V-shape around his body—obedient and perfect and beautiful. A beautiful, beautiful omega who never fails to blow Sukuna’s expectations out of the water.
The best part is that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Sukuna hears himself laugh; he feels it in his chest as he pushes his fingers into the knuckle, curling them toward Fushiguro’s belly, adoring the soft, dirty squelching noises that come with each of his movements. Fushiguro is subtly trying to rock back against his fingers, brows knitted as he watches Sukuna’s hand—in response, Sukuna removes his fingers entirely. Fushiguro whines at the loss.
“You really are a slut, huh?”
“Fuck off,” Fushiguro mumbles, tears pooling at the corners of his pretty eyes, like the embarrassment of this position is finally hitting hin.
Sukuna grins, feral. Fushiguro Megumi has bite, and he’s unlike any other omega Sukuna has ever had the pleasure of ruining.
The push and the pull, how Fushiguro thinks that he even has a choice in the matter—it makes this all the more better. The illusion of control—of holding something in your hand without even realizing it’s got you from behind, that you’re already in its jaws, that you never really had a say to begin with. The fear and the shock that comes from having the tables turned on you, from realizing that you’re actually one lethal step behind—there’s nothing in the world more thrilling.
He squeezes Fushiguro’s thighs hard enough for more small bruises to bloom, the omega’s pale skin ripe already with red marks, then unceremoniously flips him over onto his front.
Fushiguro gasps at the change in position, lifting himself up onto his elbows and looking back, eyes dark, lashes thick. Sukuna’s hands wrap around his hips, manhandling the omega into his favorite position: ass propped up, thighs spread open. He runs his thumb along Fushiguro’s gushing hole, spreading his slick all along his perineum, then teasing his balls for a little, making the omega as messy as possible. He laughs when Fushiguro’s poor cock starts to drip, laughs when he hears Fushiguro mewl in mortification.
Sukuna glides his cock between Fushiguro’s slick cheeks, rubbing the head along his sensitive perineum and twitching hole, his rim glistening and ruddy. Fuck, he’s warm, Sukuna thinks, groaning and hissing as he slips inside, walls tight and wet around him.
“Ahh, ahh, mmh,” Fushiguro moans, slumping against the bed, cheek smushed to fabric, eyes falling shut, his pretty lashes damp with tears. His face is flushed a bright pink, his black hair matted to his forehead, his entire body covered with a light sheen of sweat.
He’s beautiful—that much has never been a question. And Sukuna happens to love beautiful things.
A body as beautiful as Fushiguro’s was made to be worshipped and ruined—all beautiful things are made to be worshipped and ruined. And yet—and yet Sukuna doesn’t want to ruin him completely. He wants to savor his body, wants to bring him to the precipice of no return and drag him back before it’s too late. He wants to toy with him and show him the joys of submitting to biology, submitting to what his omega body dictates—he was made for this, made for nothing but this.
Fushiguro swallows him to the hilt, skin slapping together, and Sukuna grips his ass cheeks for leverage. The pretty curve of his back, cheeks full and fat, bouncing with each thrust, and the sweet, dizzying scent of mint and honey; Fushiguro is more than Sukuna could’ve ever dreamed of. He’s the first male omega in centuries—in Sukuna’s day, he would’ve been a prize to be won, suitors lined up at his heels, but today, oh today he’s begging for Sukuna—today, he has no other choice but Sukuna. Fushiguro is the only one of his kind, and Sukuna is the only one who knows how to deal with him, knows how to treat him like he should be treated—an omega as beautiful as him should be adored, revered, and wrecked. Knotted dumb, fucked stupid, fucked into a bliss so good he’ll never want to come up.
Fushiguro’s knees start to lose purchase on the bed, thighs spreading even wider until his cock is rubbing bare against the sheets with each of Sukuna’s thrusts.
“God, you’re perfect,” Sukuna sighs, dipping down to nip at one of Fushiguro’s scent glands. The omega only mewls, instinctively baring his neck for his alpha to bite.
And Sukuna could, if he wanted to—he could’ve claimed Fushiguro at any point. Even if it meant breaking his pact with Itadori, he still could have done it. The self-satisfaction that comes with his restraint, that comes with knowing he’s probably the only being alive who could deny such a pretty omega something that his body is begging for—
It’s one of the few pleasures in the world that Sukuna will never get tired of.
“If, nghh, if you bite me—I’ll fucking kill you—” Fushiguro hisses out. And despite his words, his neck is still bared, body still pliant and malleable.
Sukuna laughs, lips closing around the gland, sucking and leaving a dirty bruise right on the swollen flesh. Biting him there is something forbidden, but it’s adorable that Fushiguro thinks that he might violate their agreement. Adorable that Fushiguro feels the need to warn him.
“I’d love to watch you try,” Sukuna chuckles, canines scraping the fresh bruise Fushiguro’s neck.
Fushiguro moans, broken and weak, and fucks back against his cock—hips swiveling, cautious, hesitant, but oh so needy.
There’s nothing like it, Fushiguro in heat—not in full heat, but still not completely clear-headed. He still has control, or at least a semblance of it, over his actions, but the only thing driving his actions is desire. The single-minded drive to be fucked full like all omegas were made to be fucked. His shame, his pleasure, his responsive body—there’s nothing like it. Fushiguro knows what he’s doing, knows what’s happening—isn’t just a doll for Sukuna to fuck.
He’s cocky, he’s arrogant, he’s vicious, and he’s bitten off so much more than he can chew with Sukuna.
“Just—just shut up and knot me,” Fushiguro huffs out, shoulders bright pink.
Sukuna’s breath is hot against Fushiguro’s nape. “Even after all this time, you still don’t seem to know your place.” He brings a hand up to wrap around the omega’s neck, fingers curling around his throat; he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t put any real pressure behind it, but it’s a firm reminder that each breath, gasp, moan, and bratty remark that comes out of Fushiguro’s mouth is something that Sukuna allowed.
He fucks Fushiguro fucks like that, a hand around his throat, the other kneading his ass. Fushiguro’s scent sharpens through it, just as thick and overwhelming as it was when his heat was in full bloom. This blip of lucidity lasted for a long time, mostly because Sukuna, for reasons he can’t even begin to fathom, allowed him to take a break—but now he’s slipping back that beautiful incoherency.
It’s divine, really.
He’ll come back out of it soon, though.
It’s the third day of his heat, and if Sukuna has been doing this right—which he’s sure he has—Fushiguro’s heat won’t last too much longer.
There’s a trick to ending heats early.
The reason why heats for male omegas are so much worse than for their female counterparts is because the omega inside them demands for something that their body cannot possibly produce.
So, essentially, you need to trick their omega into thinking that it worked, into thinking that your seed took, into thinking that there’s no possible way it didn’t take. And the only way to do that is to knot them over and over and over even once their heat starts to break, even once they’ve passed out—pumping them full with alpha cum until their belly is swollen, until their body believes you really did fuck them pregnant. This method wasn’t something that was ever common practice, even back when male omegas weren’t extinct, but enough people did it for it to be proven effective, and it’s much less painful for the omega than letting the heat run tepidly for an entire week—it’s a lot safer too.
Sukuna doesn’t want to risk anything when it comes to Fushiguro Megumi.
Not when Fushiguro takes him so perfectly, takes him like his body was molded for Sukuna’s pleasure, a little space inside him carved out for the double-faced spectre and the double-faced spectre alone.
Sukuna lets go of Fushiguro’s throat and uses that arm to pull Fushiguro upright, positioning him so that he’s sitting on top of Sukuna’s cock, his back pressed to Sukuna’s chest.
“Suku—ngh, wh—aghh—” Fushiguro cries out in surprise. Sukuna’s cock drives in even deeper, fills him up so much that he’s left gasping, mouth hung open, eyes glazed, a line of drool stretching from his lip down to his chin. His chest is jutted out, pink nipples budding and swollen from Sukuna’s abuse. His cock looks painfully hard, shiny precum dripping from the head.
So Sukuna brings a hand down to pump at his cock, just because it looks pretty, just because he can. His fingers are dripping now, cum and slick making the glide wet and squishy. It’s almost too slippery, almost too wet.
“God, you’re pretty.”
“Shu—uhhhh, shut up,” Fushiguro cries, fidgeting around in Sukuna’s lap. His knees are bent, thighs spread wide, splayed over Sukuna’s. He’s stuck there, stuck on top of Sukuna’s cock, his body tired and fucked-out and still, still begging to be knotted. “Fu—uuuck. Fuck.”
Sukuna stills his hips, just to watch his pretty omega squirm. He licks across the expanse of Fushiguro’s shoulder, hungry and full of desire.
Even though this position shoves his cock in deeper, it isn’t the best for him to fuck Fushiguro. However, it seems that won’t exactly be an issue, because at the lack of movement, Fushiguro starts to ride him all on his own, his hands fisted in the sheets in front of him, back curved prettily. He rocks back-and-forth, weak, breathy, embarrassed whimpers escaping him with each motion. His rim stretches around Sukuna’s cock, thighs glistening with slick.
Sukuna groans at the sight, pleased at how Fushiguro never fails to give him a surprise.
“Oh, baby, you want it bad, don’t you?”
Fushiguro’s words come slurred, “ ‘f you’re not g—nnhh—not gonna fuck me, I might ‘s well—”
He’s riding Sukuna slowly, much better than he was before. Maybe it’s because his head is a little clearer, maybe it’s because he’s nearing the end of his heat entirely, maybe it’s because he’s learned. Learned how to use his body, learned how to fuck, learned how Sukuna likes it—
Sukuna decides to reward him by pumping his cock for real this time, flicking his wrist up and down in a smooth, repetitive motion. He sets the rhythm, and Fushiguro follows along beautifully, follows along like a fucking natural. He starts out hesitant but gains confidence along the way, fucking back with a growing intensity.
Fushiguro sounds close: choppy, breathy moans heightening in both volume and pitch. He feels close too: his movements gradually becoming erratic and falling out of rhythm. Even so, the curse is struck with the sudden, inexplicable need to spoil the omega—his omega. He’s been good—he’s always been good.
“Gonna come, w—wanna, wanna come—”
Sukuna’s grin blooms wild and wicked—he doesn’t think he’s done this yet, so it’ll definitely be a wonderful surprise for the omega.
With his free hand, he yanks on Fushiguro’s hair, pulling the omega back and effectively closing the space between their bodies. Fushiguro lets out a small yelp, squeezing around him. He turns his head to look at Sukuna, and Sukuna is met with a breathtaking sight. His hair is all messed up, his face is flushed a pretty rose-pink, and his eyes are pooling with tears. But most of all—his lips are swollen and just begging to be kissed—so Sukuna does, devouring his mouth in a dirty kiss, tongues sliding up against each other.
Fushiguro whines, overwhelmed, and Sukuna chuckles into it, ready to overwhelm his omega even more.
He manipulates a mouth into the center of his hand, the one down below. That mouth leaves a wet kiss on his cockhead, then its tongue drags along the underside of his cock. Fushiguro gasps, terrified at the new feeling, the added wetness—and then he’s fucking into Sukuna’s hand, fucking against his tongue, and the curse doesn’t even have to do anything more than languidly kiss his mouth, languidly drag his hand up and down his cock. Fushiguro takes to it like he’s taken to everything: beautifully, with a single-minded, burning sort of intensity.
Two mouths are on the omega, and it’s lovely, literally having this particular shaman all at his mercy.
Their kiss is dirty and raw, filled with little whimpers, hot moans, and filthy smacking noises. The omega’s mouth tastes a little like blood, probably from a cut on his lip, but Sukuna just drinks it all in, lets himself have his fill of this gorgeous omega, the first male omega in centuries, writhing on his cock and squirming into his hand, chasing his release so beautifully that, for a moment, Sukuna really does consider claiming Fushiguro as his.
“Made to be filled with cock and fucked dumb, weren’t you?” Sukuna groans, and Fushiguro just makes a little noise of assent, kissing Sukuna harder, fucking back animalistically.
Sukuna bites Fushiguro’s bottom lip with a quiet growl before he breaks the kiss fully. He gets a good look at his omega: his green eyes are dark, almost obsidian black with desire, and his lips are kiss-swollen and cherry red. Pleasure—the selfish, hedonistic, soul-consuming kind that Sukuna loves—is the only thing on his mind, and it’s gorgeous, plain and simple. He’s desperate for something that only Sukuna can give him. Something that only Sukuna could ever understand.
Just the sight of him makes Sukuna lose it, a little bit.
He feels like he isn’t in control of his body when he pushes Fushiguro back to the bed, shoves him forward until his chest hits the sheets. His cock slips out of the omega’s ass when he gets off the bed, planting his feet on solid ground.
He doesn’t give Fushiguro any time to whine, dragging him off the bed too just enough that his ass is propped up before the edge, thighs spread nearly perpendicular to his abdomen. The lovely dip of his spine accentuates the plumpness of his ass, ripe and bruised like a peach.
Sukuna bends his knees, gets himself low enough so that he can guide his cock back into Fushiguro, and thrusts in all the way to the hilt, fully seated and filling his omega to the brim. He grabs Fushiguro’s wrists with one hand, grabs Fushiguro’s ass with the other, and uses him like a toy. Fushiguro lets his alpha have his way with him, moaning and taking it. There’s a damp patch under his cock, and Sukuna realizes that in his distraction, Fushiguro must have already come.
He already came, yet he’s still taking it, taking it so well—and it’s like he’s raring for more.
“Poor thing, getting worked up this easily. You’re lucky you have me, huh?”
Fushiguro lets out an unintelligible noise.
In response, Sukuna lets go of his wrists and grabs a fistful of his hair, tangling his fingers and twisting so hard the boy is whimpering at the pain, body held taut, bent in half and hanging off his cock.
Sukuna throws his head back victoriously and lets out a quiet laugh.
Careful now, he tells himself. Careful now.
Yoyoing in and out of consciousness—it’s disorienting, to say the least. It leaves Megumi feeling weaker and dizzier each time he comes back into awareness. The change in position doesn’t make it any better. His cock is flat to the bed, rubbed raw against his sheets, and he knows it’s gonna be a bitch to clean up after this, and oh, oh, he doesn’t know why he’s even thinking about that right now. Doesn’t know how he’s even thinking about anything but the cock pistoning in and out of his ass, carving out a space inside him, brute and merciless.
Megumi isn’t sure if he’ll ever be quite the same after this, after all they’ve done, after all Sukuna’s done to him.
It’s too much, and yet Megumi doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to go without it.
Megumi’s barely aware of it when Sukuna lets go of his ass, sliding his hand over Megumi’s stomach. His palm presses into Megumi’s belly, right below his navel. Sukuna lifts one of his legs back up onto the bed and drives his cock in as deep as it can go.
“Hey, Fushiguro,” Sukuna drawls in that musing, teasing tone of his—guttural and raw. Megumi unwittingly jumps at the sound of his name, at the sensation of Sukuna’s breath right on his neck.
“I wonder if I really could fuck a baby into you.”
“You can’t,” Megumi wails, hating the sound of his own voice, hating how wrecked he sounds, hating how much he likes this, loves this—hates how good he feels. “Can’t, can’t—”
“But wouldn’t it be nice? I’ll breed you stupid—all nice and fat and swollen,” Sukuna groans, and it sounds like a promise, sounds like an inevitability. It isn’t possible—it isn’t possible—but Megumi almost wants it, almost wants it.
“Alpha, please,” Megumi breathes out, and his voice is barely audible over the noises of their skin slapping together, his ass against Sukuna’s pelvis. He repeats it, alpha, please, like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. Maybe it is.
“Your body seems to want me to,” Sukuna mocks, fingers twisting cruelly in Megumi’s hair with one hand, forcing his head to turn to the side, forcing him to look back and meet Sukuna’s blood-red eyes. With the other, he tweaks one of Megumi’s swollen nipples, pinching and squeezing at the little buds. “Seems like it wants me to breed you, breed you so fucking full. So fucking good there’ll be no doubt I’ve fucked a baby into you. You think you’d like that?”
Megumi feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw slack. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he ends up reaching back to touch Sukuna—anywhere, everywhere. He just needs to have that contact, just wants to be as close to his alpha as possible.
“Tell me. Tell me how much you want this.”
Megumi shakes his head—as much as he can with Sukuna’s hand fisted at his scalp—because he can’t. He can’t say it. If he says it, he’s too far gone; if he says it, there’s no saving him then. His eyes are closed, but that only makes Sukuna fuck him harder, cockhead grinding into Megumi’s prostate.
“Open your eyes,” he orders. “Look at me, and tell me.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” Megumi cries miserably, gasping at the feeling of Sukuna’s knot forming, stretching out his rim and making sure that no seed will be able to spill out. It has to take; it has to.
But it won’t. It can’t.
“Liars bore me, Fushiguro. Are you going to bore me?”
“Sukuna, please, hnn—fuck, fuck—”
Sukuna’s teeth sink into Megumi’s shoulder, leaving a nasty, bloody bite mark right next to his scent gland. Megumi wails as Sukuna’s canines graze the upraised flesh, wails as Sukuna laps at the wound, cleaning him up. Through it all—in the back of his head—Megumi wonders what it would’ve been like if Sukuna had bitten down just a couple inches closer to his neck. If Sukuna had claimed him, marked him—truly owned him.
“Say it. Say it, or you’re all on your own.”
It’s an empty threat—Megumi knows it, knows that there’s no way Sukuna will leave him alone, even at the very end of his heat. Sukuna’s knot is rapidly expanding, locking their bodies together, stretching Megumi to his body’s limit. He can’t leave Megumi all on his own—
But Megumi finds himself falling for it anyway.
He pries his eyes open, stinging and blurry with tears; his bottom lip wobbles, mortified and euphoric all at once. He feels broken, and it hurts—and this all scares him.
It scares him, because he doesn’t really mind.
Not really. Not at all.
“W—want it,” Megumi whispers miserably.
Fuck. Fuck. Who even is he anymore?
Sukuna’s lips pull into a grin. “Want what, sweetheart?”
Megumi wants to kill him; if he had the strength, maybe he’d sock him right in the gut. But he doesn’t have the strength to do anything but blink his pretty eyes, half-lidded and hazy, and utter, “Want you to—ngh—to breed me. Want you to fuck me full of cum. Please, please.”
Sukuna’s eyes twinkle like dark rubies, and he fucks him like he’s trying to break him. But he already has. He already has. Megumi’s mind goes blank again—he can only feel what’s going on, feel it deep in his belly and all over his body. Sukuna’s words, his mocking taunts and fluttering praises go right over his head, but when it comes down to it, they don’t really matter—the only thing that matters now is the fat knot swelling at his rim, preparing to breed him like he was made to be bred. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much, and it’s all he’ll ever need, really.
Megumi feels himself release one more time, weak dribbles spurting from his cock, pathetic and forced. It clears his head a little, clears it up enough that he can make out what Sukuna is saying, chanting, hissing:
“Mine, you’re all mine, and you’ll never be anyone else’s. Won’t let you. Won’t fucking let anyone ever touch you—”
Deep down, Megumi knows that this arrangement is bad for him, that Ryoumen Sukuna is bad for him. He knows that Sukuna is evil, knows that what they’re doing is wrong.
But when he’s in heat, and even sometimes when he’s out of it, he can’t help but think that maybe it isn’t so bad, maybe it isn’t so wrong what they’re doing. It isn’t Megumi’s fault that he presented as an omega, and it isn’t his fault that he can’t resist Sukuna.
It isn’t his fault that he wants it—really, truly does want it.
Megumi has never been religious—how could he, in a world like this?
Megumi has never been religious, but this, this right now might be the closest to God he’s ever felt.
This is what Sukuna meant. This is what Megumi was born for. To worship, to feel, and to take anything and everything that his alpha gives him.
He’s Sukuna’s, now. Down to the bone, down to his core. He feels like he’s been rewired, feels like there’s no going back. Ryoumen Sukuna is an insatiable god, and Megumi’s body is a mere offering.
But it must be the same for Sukuna—if Megumi’s made the biggest mistake of his life with this contract, this binding vow of theirs, then so has Sukuna.
Megumi peeks his eyes open and takes a good look at his alpha: there’s this blissed-out expression on his face, a couple strands of pink hair fallen on his forehead, sweat dripping down his chin. Megumi’s heart stutters at the sight—he’s made his alpha feel good. His alpha feels good, and there’s nothing like the thrill of knowing that he was the one who did that—he broke Sukuna down just as much as Sukuna broke him down.
It might be a bit of a delusional thought—but in this one moment, it feels like they’re tipping over the event horizon, feels like they’re doing something that they won’t be able to take back. In this moment, Megumi is sure of it—
You’ve ruined me, but I’ve ruined you just as much.
Sukuna cums with a long and heavy groan, his cum hot and thick and filling Megumi good. His hips keep slapping Megumi’s ass, his knot constantly shifting, cockhead constantly overstimulating Megumi. They fall forward onto the bed, Sukuna’s body pinning him down—the weight of him makes Megumi dizzy, jaw slack, mouth open and soaking the soiled fabric below him. Megumi can barely breathe, and it’s like he’s forgotten how to do anything but take Sukuna’s cock.
Megumi swears that his stomach is a little distended right. He wants to try and feel it, wants to press his palm to his stomach to see if his belly really is as swollen as it feels, but he’s too limp, too boneless to do anything but twitch weakly.
This one’s different from all the ones before in that Megumi doesn’t black out or sink back into heat; there is no dark fogginess overcoming him, just a heavy clarity and a whole-body ache.
Their positioning is uncomfortable for both of them—Sukuna is half off the bed, and Megumi is still folded in half—so with much effort, Sukuna moves them around until the omega is sitting in his lap again, back to Sukuna’s chest, and Sukuna’s back to the wall. Megumi breathes out little whimpers and pained gasps all throughout it, too fucked-out to try and keep his noises inside. His head tilts back until it rests on Sukuna’s shoulder, and he’s surprised that Sukuna lets him keep it there.
“Bastard,” he spits out between pants, wincing at the throbbing ache in his shoulder. “You bit me again.”
Sukuna laughs, and Megumi can feel the vibrations of it ripple through his whole body, full-bodied and low. “Do you want me to apologize?”
Megumi wishes he had the energy to turn around and glare at the curse. “Fuck you. I even told you not to.” Even if it isn’t a permanent mating bite, it still hurts like fuck.
“And why should I listen to you?”
It’s really no use talking to Sukuna. It’s like talking to Gojou except a thousand times more irritating. Gojou, however, is annoying on purpose. Sukuna doesn’t even have to try to piss Megumi off to the moon.
And yet . . .
Megumi pushes the thought out of his mind before it can bloom into something real.
“Fine,” he grits out, dropping the argument. He imagines that Sukuna is smirking right now. There isn’t a doubt in his mind about it.
And his mind—is pretty clear right now. Clear enough that he has the sense to be embarrassed about the past few hours—hell, the past few days. Clear enough that he doesn’t know what to say after all that.
They fall into a half-silence, and Sukuna presses his palm flat to Megumi’s belly, like he’s trying to feel for a bulge, like he’s trying to test if it really did take. Megumi grimaces at the memory of him begging for it, begging for Sukuna to breed him, knot him, fuck him pregnant no matter how impossible—but he pushes that unnecessary thought out of his mind as well.
And so, Megumi lets his mind float a little—spacing out is easy for him, even easier when he’s exhausted like he is now. He breathes in the air, so thick with their respective scents that it’s hard to differentiate one from the other. He closes his eyes, focusing on sensation rather than thought: Sukuna’s chest against his back, his breath on his neck, his hand on his stomach.
Sukuna’s heartbeat, synced to his, is sticky against Megumi’s skin like he’ll never be rid of it, never be rid of Sukuna.
“Your heat’s practically over, by the way,” Sukuna informs him after some time.
Megumi lifts a brow. “Practically?”
Sukuna buries his nose in Megumi’s neck, and the omega gasps, losing feeling throughout his body. “Your scent’s calmed down a lot, but it’s still pretty thick,” he explains, lightly kissing the bite-wound on Megumi’s neck. Then his hand slides down, slick against the mess of cum on Megumi’s stomach, and wraps around his cock. “The heat will probably fade on its own, but if you want it to go away immediately, I could get you off a few more times. Fuck the heat fully out of you.”
Megumi groans. If he comes one more time, he might actually die, so he angrily bats Sukuna’s hand away before he can force another orgasm out of him.
“If you wanted to fuck me so much, why didn’t you just let my heat run for the full week?”
“Careful there, shaman,” Sukuna warns, sounding awfully amused. Megumi blanches, quickly realizing his mistake. “You’ll make me think you’d actually prefer that.”
Megumi frowns. The more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t make sense, actually. Megumi hadn’t even known there was a trick to shortening heats—there’s nothing in the literature about it. There is no literature regarding male omegas.
At any point, Sukuna could’ve lied—Megumi has to remind himself that he could still be lying about some things, has to remind himself that trust is not earned just from getting your brains fucked out nonstop for days. Sukuna could’ve lied, and Megumi wouldn’t have had a clue. Sukuna didn’t owe it to him to tell him about the trick to shortening heats, nor to actually put it into action.
“I just—I don’t get it.” Megumi manages enough strength to twist his body around to look at Sukuna. “You could’ve had me for a whole week.”
You could’ve been in control for a whole week.
Sukuna gains nothing from shortening his heat—in fact, the only ones who do benefit from it are Megumi and Itadori, and Sukuna definitely isn’t doing this for Itadori’s sake.
Keeping up this position is difficult, torso twisted uncomfortably to maintain eye contact with Sukuna, but Megumi makes do for now, breath held taut, awaiting Sukuna’s response.
Sukuna looks irritated by Megumi’s question, facial expressions hardening, and for a long second there, Megumi is sure that Sukuna isn’t going to answer—but he does.
“It’s too dangerous,” he says simply, tucking a fallen strand of Megumi’s hair behind his ear, “letting a male omega’s heat run for its full length.”
It feels like all the air’s been punched out of Megumi’s lungs. He stares at Sukuna, the King of Curses and his accidental heat partner, in all his glory—not with reverence, not with resentment, and definitely not with fear—but with disbelief.
Sukuna had mentioned it once before, back when he had presented, back during his first heat. The words, long forgotten, now come rising back to the surface: I can’t have you dying on me.
“You . . . really don’t want me to die, do you?” Megumi asks, breathless, eyes widening with understanding.
Sukuna rolls his eyes, all four of them, as if the answer is obvious. “Of course I don’t, shaman. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”
If I’m yours, then what does that make you?
Sukuna starts to card his fingers through Megumi’s damp hair, dragging his nails along his scalp. Megumi finds himself relaxing into the gentle touch, purring instinctively. He jerks back once he realizes it, but the damage has already been done. Sukuna is littering kisses down his neck, a soft press of his lips atop each of the nasty love-bites.
It’s too—this, whatever it is they’re doing right now—it’s too intimate.
There is no need for Sukuna to be so gentle with him, no need for Sukuna to be pressing light, fluttering kisses to each of his wounds.
Megumi sucks in a breath and forces himself to ask the question that’s been haunting him since the start. He stares at the wall in front of them and mutters, “Why me?”
It’s a loaded question—to each person in Megumi’s life, it asks something different. To Gojou, it’s why did you cancel the deal with the Zenins? To his father, it’s why wasn’t I worth staying for? To his sister, it’s why did you choose me of all people to worry about?
But right now, to Sukuna, it only means one thing.
Why him? Why is it—him?
Sukuna presses one last kiss to Megumi’s shoulder and takes another whiff of his sweet scent. It’s too intimate—it’s much too dangerous.
“You’re the only one in the world who interests me,” he answers, straight-forward, with no malice or hidden intent.
Megumi’s eyes blow wide, a breath stuttering violently in his throat.
If there’s one thing Megumi is sure of, it’s that he’s never been anyone’s someone before. He’s always had people who cared about him and looked after him—Tsumiki because they had no one but each other, and Gojou because of a myriad of reasons Megumi will never be able to understand—but he’s never had anyone interested in him. Interested without strings attached, interested in him for who he is, who he might become.
“Sukuna . . . ”
This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all that it had to be Ryoumen Sukuna.
“Yeah, darling?” Sukuna asks, mouth sticky against Megumi’s throat. His hands come down to Megumi’s waist, and Megumi finds it hard to think, hard to remember what it is he wanted to say.
Megumi wishes he could blame what he does next on the heat. But even though, as Sukuna said, the heat is still there, lingering persistently—it isn’t in control of his actions. For the most part, he’s free from it—
But Sukuna, he isn’t free from that particular curse at all.
He wishes he could blame it on the heat, the way he twists back around and, with much effort, presses his mouth to Sukuna’s. He pulls back lightning quick, biting his lip. He doesn’t know why he just did that.
Sukuna’s pupils are dilated, wine-dark and looking a little unhinged. “You never do fail to surprise me, huh, Fushiguro Megumi?”
It goes both ways, Megumi thinks. Everything about this goes both ways.
Invigorated by the hunger in Sukuna’s eyes, the cursed energy that seems to flow from his mouth, Megumi dives in for another kiss, except this time he doesn’t pull back. This time, he’s trying to devour Sukuna just as much as Sukuna is always trying to devour him. Wet and sloppy, sucking on his tongue, gnawing on his lower lip.
Sukuna pushes him forward, pushes him down to lie on his side, lifting up his thigh and reminding him of the knot plugging him up. Sukuna kisses him over his shoulder, and Megumi grabs onto his hair, pulls him closer, and groans into the kiss. Megumi feels so full, fucked full of cum, knotted so good it feels like he’s been bred for real—and yet he still can’t get enough.
There’s no going back for either of them, at this point.
“Oi, brat,” Sukuna grunts out quietly, trying to get Itadori’s attention. “We’re done here. You can take over.”
Fushiguro is asleep, passed out next to him.
Sukuna worked him up to one last orgasm, worked the omega up until he was coming hot and messy into Sukuna’s hand. Fushiguro quickly fell asleep, exhausted and fully fucked-out.
When his knot finally deflated, Sukuna pulled out, grabbed one of Fushiguro’s spare shirts from his drawer, and wiped them both clean—as much as he could, anyway. Fushiguro’s swollen, abused hole is clenching in his sleep, trying to keep as much of Sukuna’s cum inside him even while he’s knocked out, unconscious.
It’s charming, really.
It takes Itadori almost a minute to respond. “Did you two have your fun?” He sounds sleepy, like he just woke up, his voice even whinier and more annoying than usual.
Sukuna looks down at Fushiguro, lying on his back, cheeks puffy, looking almost like a child. His body has bruises and hickies all over it, nipples swollen and abused, his cock laid on his thigh, completely spent. It’s a gorgeous sight—Sukuna will probably never get tired of seeing Fushiguro vulnerable like this.
“Yeah. We did.”
By the time Megumi wakes up, the sun is out. He knows it by the way his lidded eyes squeeze even more shut. He’s on his back, and his limbs ache too much for him to try and cover his face with his forearm, so he flops over onto his stomach to bury his face in the sheets.
But when he rolls over, he realizes that he’s actually rolled on top of a warm body. Sukuna. Megumi almost forgot about him.
Sukuna groans quietly—Megumi realizes that he might’ve stirred the curse awake.
It doesn’t quite sound like Sukuna—the pitch is too high and something about it sounds different—but Megumi doesn’t think too much of it, nuzzling his face deeper in his alpha’s neck and inhaling deeply. Part of him wishes that Sukuna’s scent was stronger; his own scent, eucalyptus and honey, is clogging up his nose—the entire room reeks of it—so he can’t really smell anything else.
The last thing he remembers from last night was Sukuna jerking him off, lightly rocking into him, grinding his cockhead into his prostate, his knot jostling at his rim with each thrust. The last thing he remembers was Sukuna’s slick, sticky mouth on his. Languid, sleepy kisses; warm touches and synced heartbeats. It was—it was good, how his heat ended, the last dregs of his heat burning away like slow embers.
Admittedly, Megumi misses it—misses it so much that he forgets himself for a second, forgets who he is outside of Sukuna and who Sukuna is outside of this.
Sukuna did a lot of things to him while he was sleeping—he remembers gasping awake at one point, bent over the bed, Sukuna fucking him sideways, using him like a little toy. Sukuna did a lot of things to him, so, if Megumi were to steal a kiss or two while they’re both half-asleep, it wouldn’t be that bad, right?
He knows the shape of Sukuna’s body well enough that he can keep his eyes closed when finding his lips. When their lips touch, Megumi hums in satisfaction. He’ll blame this momentary blip of insanity and gross clinginess on the fact that he’s half-asleep and his omega is most likely taking over, demanding that he get as close to his alpha as possible.
It’s not that he wants to kiss Sukuna. It’s just that—he has to.
He furrows his brows and tries to savor this feeling—he won’t be able to have Sukuna until his next heat, after all. Sukuna’s lips are warm, and it’s a light, innocent sort of kiss. It’s pleasant.
But then, all of a sudden there’s a hand shoving him away and pushing him off.
Megumi opens his eyes in confusion, lips pulled into a pout—he doesn’t think that Sukuna’s ever denied him of a kiss before—only to see Itadori, no curse marks, pink hair slightly more tame, looking at him in abject horror, tongue stuck out and gagging dramatically.
“Dude,” Itadori yells, blushing down to his toes and making a garbled noise of disgust and betrayal. “What the fuck?”
Megumi blinks slowly, taking in the sight of his best friend and not the evil curse who fucked him six ways to Sunday. The planet stops spinning, and Megumi feels very, very still.
“Oh, it’s you . . . ” he trails off vaguely. Then he purses his lips and jerks his head to the side, mortified, realizing that was quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve said.
“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN? IT’S YOU? DID YOU THINK I WAS SUKUNA?”
Megumi is never gonna live this down.